


Petrichor

by Arya_Greenleaf



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Ending, F/M, Female Loki, Jötunn Loki, Loki Feels, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 352,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki finds himself alone after sacrificing his life to save Yggdrasil from darkness and avenge Frigga. Rather than succumbing to death, he takes advantage of it and creates a new life for himself away from Heimdall's watch.</p><p>Story told from two perspectives.</p><p>A departure from the ending of "Thor: The Dark World" in which Loki does not return to Asgard and assume the throne wearing Odin's face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers gets wet and has a strange encounter.

Steve Rogers liked to explore the city. He still got lost on occasion, but with the help of the smartphone that Stark had insisted he learn to use, he managed to find his way once again more often than not. Today was a not.

Dusk was quickly fading into twilight. Street lights were starting to glow. He knew he was still somewhere in Midtown. He was pretty sure he was still on the east side of the island. He'd left the place he'd eaten dinner at and simply walked north. He felt like he'd been walking north forever. Resisting the urge to fish the smartphone out of the bottom of the messenger bag slung across his body, he turned west and silently prayed he'd soon came to a landmark he could recognize.

Relief washed over him as asphalt turned into grey cobble stone and Central Park came into view. Here, he could loose himself comfortably.

Rather than walk the perimeter, Steve headed into the park and followed the meandering paths to reach the opposite side. He liked the park at night. The park at night was  _his park_. The air was still. The noise of the boisterous city calmed to a gentle background hum. The yellowish lights were less harsh than the neon and LED and fluorescence of the rest of Manhattan. There was more nature than concrete. In the park at night, Steve felt like... _Steve._ Less "out of time." Less "super solider." More "kid from Brooklyn." Relaxed as he was, he barely noticed when the light mist of rain started to find it's way to him through the trees. It startled him when the heavens opened and it began to pour.

"Shit."

Sometimes it still surprised Steve when an obscenity escaped his lips. Not that he'd always been a boy scout. He talked his fair share of smack. He wasn't the pristine, angelic creature that the Captain had come to represent. He wasn't Gabriel or Michael. He was just usually more  _eloquent_. Steve blamed Stark.

Ducking under an awning for cover as he found himself somewhere near the west side of the park, just north of Columbus Circle, he dug into the bottom of his bag for an umbrella. He was already wet, but at least he could keep himself from getting completely soaked before he headed down into the subway station.

"A to the 4. Off at the museum." Steve nodded, agreeing with himself as the umbrella sprang open in front of him and he raised it over his head.

It had been a good day. He'd explored some of Alphabet City. There were so many interesting people. So many good smells wafting out of the rows of wild looking restaurants and bars along with laughter and music and the general sounds of life being enjoyed. He'd gone into a small place on... " _Avenue C and 7th."_  There were salvaged looking arms chairs, a long, communal wooden table with benches, and a back garden with a swing. Everything on tap was local. There was fancy sounding food that looked like something his mother would have made him after school. Steve smiled as he wandered toward the mouth of the park and ran his tongue over his lips as he remembered the rich taste of the shelburne cheddar, landaff, and provolone. It was tangy and warm and gooey between two pieces of perfectly toasted sourdough. It had gone well with the warm potato chips and cool beer. He'd sat at the small, circular table on the uneven ground in the wobbly folding chair and sketched the couple snuggled on the swing and talking quietly as the young woman smiled and traced patterns in the condensation of the side of her pint. The sketch was all soft edges and stillness. The waitress had pointed out the smear of charcoal along the side of his jaw when she had placed the plate with the sandwich in front of him and had returned a moment later with a wink and a piece of wet paper towel.

The other members of his team and the agents he interacted with every day were constantly trying to get him to go out with them and "live in the world." They didn't realize that he  _was_  living in it. He just preferred to do it alone, sometimes.

Steve knew where he was physically, but he was lost in thought. Alphabet City had been fun. He liked to people-watch. His sketchbook was alive with the life of the neighborhood. His ears were still ringing with all of the different languages that floated back and forth in the air--sometimes in quiet conversation, sometimes shouted, always baffling. The neighborhood was incredibly colorful, or at least the section he had found himself in was. Everything seemed to have been touched by one artist or another. The vibrancy and creativity of it all had made him feel completely at home in the unfamiliar area. He debated with himself over whether or not his therapist would be happy with him. He'd fulfilled his task. He'd gone out and spent time in a part of the city that he hadn't explored every nook and cranny of already. He'd interacted with other people. But the task had been to socialize and he really hadn't done that to the extent he was sure Dr. Cooper had meant. He surprised himself with the thought that he wanted to go back. That waitress had been nice. He wasn't sure if it was just because she recognized him or not, but he wasn't opposed to finding out. He didn't think he would go as far as saying he was  _interested_  in her, but she certainly was  _interesting_.

"Hey--!"

Steve was jolted out of his reverie as someone hustled past him and knocked the umbrella out of his hand. He stood there for a moment blinking and watching the umbrella turn a lazy half circle on the ground in front of him. He shook his head, snatched the umbrella back up and looked to the only other soul on the path he'd been following. The person was hunched forward. Arms wrapped tightly around the torso. Long, pale fingers gripped the sides of the soaked trench coat. Heavy boots created little tidal waves as the person strode through a large puddle across the path. Dark hair was plastered against the scull, ears sticking out from between the stuck-together locks.

Steve jogged forward through the same puddle, careful not to splash the person as he got close. He realized the figure was shivering. It wasn't that cold out, but the fact that the person was clearly wet to the bone probably wasn't helping. "Hey." He reached forward tentatively and put his hand on the lightly trembling shoulder. "Are you--"

Steve was cut off as the person whirled around at his touch. They jumped back slightly. The hunch against the rain turned defensive. Arms no longer clung to the body but shot out in front as if to ward off attack. Wild green eyes searched his face from the gaunt hollows of their sockets and darted to his own extended hands and back. Slightly blue lips parted as if to speak but remained silent. Drops of water rolled down the elegant curve of the nose and over the ridge of the partially exposed collarbone and throat. The chest rose and fell dramatically as if every breath took effort and accentuated that much more by the wet shirt clinging to it.

Steve's eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "Ma'am, are you okay?" The woman before him remained silent. Her eyes narrowed and her expression turned from slightly frightened to bitter. Steve repeated himself and stepped closer, trying to put the umbrella over the woman. She breathed in sharply and put her hands up to guard her face. The air suddenly felt static. "Don't touch me!"

Her voice was more forceful than her appearance would suggest. He stepped back, still trying to keep the umbrella over her. "Hey,  _you_  knocked into  _me_. I'm just trying to help. Are you okay?"

She shook her head sharply. Steve studied her. There was something familiar that he couldn't quite place. "Are you sure? I could call someone for you." He didn't know how that would actually help. Surely, someone was worried about her. She didn't look homeless. She didn't look old enough to have no one. "A parent? A friend?" She shook her head again, still maintaining her defensive pose. "Are you lost?" Shake. "Are you cold?" Shake. He knew that one had to be a lie. "Do you want my umbrella? I'm just heading down to the subway, there," he pointed toward the golden globe just in sight through the trees, "I don't really need it." She shook her head again.

"I am already wet."

Steve smirked and acknowledged that she was. She seemed to relax a fraction. She glanced up toward the umbrella partially over each of them and scowled at him. "Leave me alone." Her hands went to her throat and attempted to rearrange the black shirt that was stretched downward with the weight of the water. Steve said he wasn't sure he could leave her alone in good conscience. "Someone is waiting for me. I'm already late." He was sure that was as much of a lie as not being cold. He asked her where the person was waiting for her. She gestured in the general direction of the buildings across the street.

"Time Warner?" She narrowed her eyes at him again and nodded. She didn't seem sure. She began to walk again, hugging herself and glancing over her shoulder at him. He covered the distance she'd put between them in a few strides and held the umbrella over her once again. "At least let me walk you over there. It's dark and you're all in black. The cars won't see you." She let out an annoyed huff but didn't try to move away. She allowed him to walk her through Columbus Circle and to the entrance of the shopping center.

"Thank you." Her words were clipped. She made no move to enter the building. Steve said she was welcome, hesitant to just walk away.

"Be careful who you're bumping into next time." One side of his mouth twitched up into an amiable smile. She rolled those green eyes at him and gripped the sides of her coat slightly tighter. "Alright then...I'm headed that way," he gestured toward the globe again where the entrance to the subway was. "Hope you get dry soon."

Steve turned and walked in the direction he'd indicated, stealing glances over his shoulder at the strange woman. She still wasn't going inside. She was just standing there in the rain getting wetter and hugging herself and watching him like a hawk watching prey.  _"Like Hawkeye watching a mark."_ He walked down the stairs into the station and shook his umbrella off before closing it and stowing it back in his bag. He shook the water off of his soft, brown leather jacket and stepped through the turn-style still feeling like the woman was watching him. He got onto the A train headed downtown but never boarded the 4. He emerged from the subway as the rain gently decrescendoed and walked toward Stark Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive me for the roughness of this chapter. This is my first attempt at fanfiction and I have entirely too many ideas battling in my head to throw themselves onto the page...or would it be the screen? Please feel free to comment. I love getting feedback on any work--it's a learning experience and will only make future endeavors better. :)
> 
> For those attracted by the "explicit" tag, I assure you, that will come in time.


	2. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides even awkward companionship is better than being alone after his confusing encounter with the wild-eyed woman. He still can't shake the feeling that he knew her.

Steve stepped into the lobby of Stark Tower and strode purposefully toward the elevator. As he stepped inside, the cool English voice of Stark's AI greeted him. "Hello, JARVIS." Steve smiled at the ceiling. He was never quite sure where to look when talking to the disembodied voice, always feeling as though he was being rude. He didn't think he'd ever have the same ease of conversation with the--robot? computer? program?--as Pepper and Tony did. Even after grasping the basic functions of the smartphone, sometimes the way technology had left him behind still frightened him. Even after seeing Howard's floating car prototype at the Modern Marvels Expo and becoming a glorified science project himself, it was frightening. It all just made him think of the weapons Red Scull and Arnim Zola had been able to develop using the energy from the Tesseract. It made him think of the weapons S.H.I.E.L.D had been developing as well.

Steve realized he wasn't moving. The elevator doors were still open and a frown was fixed on his face. He was gripping the strap of his messenger bag tightly with both hands. He was holding his breath. "Captain Rogers?" the voice asked, "Are you quite alright?" The AI sounded genuinely concerned. Steve relaxed his grip on the strap and released the air in his chest slowly. "Yes, JARVIS, thank you. I'm sorry. Maybe I should move my next appointment with Dr. Cooper up." The voice asked him if he'd like it to get the therapist on the phone for him. "No, that's okay. I can do it myself." The elevator doors closed silently and he felt the tiniest of lurches as the car began to ascend.

"I don't believe Mr. Stark was expecting you, Captain, I am sure he will be delighted to be informed of your arrival." Steve nodded and looked toward the mirror in the corner of the elevator. He hadn't planned on stopping in this evening. "How very spontaneous of you, Sir." Coming out of Stark's mouth, that would have sounded condescending; but the AI made it sound like a compliment. "Mr. Stark is entertaining some familiar guests on the Avengers' training floor. Shall I take you there?" Steve responded in the positive.

He liked the training floor at the tower better than the one at S.H.I.E.L.D. Most things were re-enforced to accommodate his strength. He destroyed fewer hanging bags, even on a bad day when he really should have called Dr. Cooper but chose to work through it himself instead. There was a boxing ring. There were weights. There were pieces of gym equipment. There was a shooting range that worked for Natasha's guns, Clint's arrows, and Tony's blasters equally well. There was a sparring area that Tony had had the foresight to have as grounded and rubberized as possible. "Because Thor can't help himself" was the explanation. There didn't seem to be anything specifically tailored to Hulk, but Bruce seemed to prefer the sanctuary of the laboratory a few floors away instead. The part that Steve liked the best, though, wasn't any of that. It was the privacy that the training floor afforded. JARVIS ensured that only the Avengers and essential personnel could access it. Steve had never seen anyone outside of the team aside from Pepper make a visit. At S.H.I.E.L.D. there were other agents and employees constantly filtering in and out of the gym and the training areas. He didn't like being gawked at. He may be Captain America, but he was still a _human being._ He wasn't an animal in the _zoo._ He broke more hanging bags there--whether is was because they couldn't handle his pummeling or because he found himself increasingly frustrated rather than relaxed by the exercise.

Stark stopped heckling Barton in attempt to distract him from the target his arrow was trained on for a long enough moment to turn and watch Steve walk from the elevator into the training area. " _Steve Rogers_ , you look like a drowned rat. Did you leave a puddle in my elevator?" Stark's eyebrow rose and he grinned after a second. "Spangles! Are you ever going to learn to not take everything so seriously?" Steve huffed out a short laugh and Tony crossed the room to clap him on the shoulder. "Hit the showers, soldier!" he spat out in a mocking imitation of a drill sergeant. "Go warm up and dry off. Your locker has been conveniently stocked, by myself, with those little white tee shirts and brown sweatpants you like so much." Tony gave a self-satisfied smirk. "There may even be a pair or two of running shoes that just so happen to fit you perfectly.

Steve smiled. Stark really was trying. He seemed like so much less of an ass since the two of them had worked together to keep the Helicarrier in the air. Less of a threat. Stark was constantly badgering him to move into the tower. Badgering all of them, really. Dr. Cooper thought it might be a good idea, too. Steve preferred the solitude of his one-bedroom in Brooklyn. He'd never say it out loud, but he also felt that a move to Stark Tower, even with the planned name change to Avengers Tower, would make Tony the leader. The Captain wouldn't allow that.

He could take advantage of the man's hospitality, at least. He showered and discovered that yes, there was a locker with his name on it stocked with shirts and pants. And yes, the shoes fit perfectly. JARVIS informed him that if he put his wet clothes into the hamper they would be dry and hanging in his locker for him whenever he chose to depart. Steve thanked the AI. "You know, JARVIS, I think you're actually Tony's conscience.  Like Jiminy Cricket." It satisfied him to use a pop-culture reference that he actually understood, even if 70 years on ice had meant Disney movies had changed too. "Jiminy didn't have quite a smooth an accent as I do, though, Sir." Steve shook his head. The AI really _was_ intelligent.

Steve watched as Clint plucked arrows out of his target and Natasha continued to unload a magazine into hers. Somehow, she even managed to make the large red ear protection and plastic goggles look deadly. When she finished she put the safety on, removed the magazine and placed the pieces on the ledge in front of her while her target rolled forward on the track. Tony whistled at the perfect groupings of holes in the paper man's forehead and chest. Natasha removed the ear muffs and goggles and finally turned around to face the men behind her. She shrugged at them and winked at Steve as she walked past him, "C'mon, Cap. Pepper's making breakfast for dinner."

One of the things that actually annoyed Steve about the way the serum had changed his body was the speed of his metabolism. As a result he often found himself eating something like six squares a day rather than the three everyone else was happy with. He sat quietly enjoying the eggs and bratwurst, and green peppers in front of him and absorbed the conversation going on around him. "So what did you do today that resulted in making my cleaning staff work over time to dry the trail of water you left behind?" Stark prodded Steve in the side. The flinch that resulted made the man immensely satisfied with himself. He didn't remember when or how he'd discovered that Spangles was ticklish, but he sure as hell remembered to use the knowledge. Often.

"I walked around Alphabet City. Ate at a bar. Spent most of the day sketching." He paused to take a sip of the fresh orange juice Pepper had squeezed to go with the meal. "I was in Central Park when the storm started." He'd been debating through most of the meal whether or not he was going to tell the others about the odd woman with the wild green eyes who had knocked his umbrella out of his hand. "I met this girl...no, woman." Tony waggled his eyebrows and Steve shook his head in dismissal. "She was alone and didn't have an umbrella." He told the others about the encounter. "I felt like I _knew_ her. Like deja vu." His brows came together into a wrinkle over his nose. "But I don't know anyone from now. Not outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. at least. It was just...weird. Everything felt static-y. Then she relaxed and it was like it went away." He shrugged. "I just hope she had someplace warm and dry to go. She wouldn't let me help her."

"Boy Scout, you're an idiot." Steve shot Tony and annoyed look. "Don't look at me like that. Everyone in this city is a nut job. They're all either on medication or should be. Toddlers are carrying switchblades now-a-days. You're lucky she didn't flip out and attack you."

"Please, Tony." Pepper shot him a withering look. "She was alone and wet and clearly not physically well. Steve did the right thing." She smiled at him from across the table. "You wouldn't be _you_ if you didn't try to help her." Steve nodded as lightening filled the room with brightness and thunder boomed. "And now you'll be staying the night. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer."

The rest of the evening was passed in the living room after Steve had helped Pepper to clear the table and load the dishwasher. Bottles of wine and scotch were opened. Glassware clinked softly against the table. Conversation floated over the storm outside the floor to ceiling windows. Through it all, Steve lost himself in thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the Steve-centric-ness of these first chapters. Loki isn't being very forthcoming with his side of the story. Dr. Cooper suggested Steve share his side with me, and this is the result, so far.
> 
> Thank you so much to the people who read the first chapter. I didn't expect it to get even five hits, let alone the 76 at the time I'm posting this chapter.
> 
> Feedback is a wonderful thing :)


	3. Not to Hel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds resolve on Svartalfheim.

Loki was still. It wasn't because he wanted to be. His body just refused to move. It didn't stop his mind from racing.

It was supposed to be a trick. An illusion. Just like he'd made it look as though he'd cut Thor's hand off. That had been fun. He'd planned on being hit by the blast that would follow the elf as it exploded. Knocked to the ground. Injured enough that death would seem possible. That no one would suspect it was he and not Odin on the throne. The had been witnesses. No one would have questioned Thor when he said that he and Jane had witnessed life leaving Loki behind.

But the damned elf had a mind of his own and stuck that damn blade right through his gut. Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn everyone. Damn Thor. And Jane. And Odin. And Frigga. Damn Frigga for sacrificing herself. For leaving him alone. For forcing his hand and making him do this.

Salty tears filled his eyes, stinging them. He tried to blink them away. Willed them to dry rather than fall. But fall they did, rolling over the sides of his face, leaving pale streaks in the dust that had settled over him. He felt like he'd been lying there forever in the dust. Thor had left him. Granted, he was supposed to be dead--was fairly sure he was actually dying, but evidently Thor didn't think that he had done enough to deserve a proper send off.

No matter. Valhalla and Folkvangr probably wouldn't welcome him, anyway. Helheim was a better alternative. At least there he could be with Hel. He did so miss his daughter. Though she hadn't been taken from him the same way his sons had, she had been too far away and too difficult to visit. Damn Odin, again.

Where had Thor and Jane gone? The craft they'd arrived in was still here. He'd seen them move toward the cave. He didn't notice them coming out. Focus. Loki needed to focus. He wasn't dead yet. Unless there was some monster in that cave that had eaten the God of Thunder and his little woman, there had to be a way out of this realm. It could be a spot where the realms were coming together. He had no idea what realm he'd wind up on if he could made it through before the portal closed, but anywhere was better than here. He'd even take his chances on Jotunheim over this place. _"I really have gotten low."_ Focus. Focus. Focus.

Focus he did. Loki focused what little energy and magic he had left into forcing his body to move. He had to hurry. He couldn't figure out how much time he'd spent lying there. The portal may already be closed. Focus. Hurry.

Loki managed to get himself turned onto his side. As he moved, blood seeped from his wound with renewed enthusiasm. His head felt light. He paused a moment, drawing in ragged breaths. Somehow he found himself on his feet, swaying though he was he even made it a few steps forward before he fell. And so he moved in this way. Rising, stumbling, falling, and dragging himself through the rock and dust toward the mouth of the cave and inside.

His green eyes, dulled by pain, searched the darkness for the two that had abandoned him.

_"It's certainly a running theme, isn't it?"_

There. There, on the ground. Those things didn't belong here. Keys and bottles and cans. "Of course."

Midgard.

His mind raced ahead of itself as he struggled toward the spot the items had accumulated in. At the very least, if they realized that he wasn't dead--if they actually bothered to come back for his body--they might not think to look for him on Midgard first. He might be able to buy himself some time to heal and recuperate some energy. He'd need it to defend himself if he couldn't sufficiently hide himself.

Suddenly Loki was no longer in the cave. He was in some structure. It looked abandoned but there were police everywhere. He summoned a final burst of energy to pull himself into a corner where he could remain mostly unseen.

Loki could wait. He could take the time to plan his next move. To move the pieces in his head. Theorize on outcomes. But to wait, he must hide. So there, slumped against the brick wall, getting drenched by the rain that was falling from the Midgardian sky, Loki used what little magic he could spare to hide himself from Heimdall's watchful eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've locked Loki away in the Hulk cell and told him he cannot come out until he tells me his story. He keeps insisting that he only remains because his wishes to, but it hasn't stopped him from talking.
> 
> I know the chapter is short, and that all of the chapters so far have been short. I don't want them to start rambling. When it feels like a good ending point, I end it. 
> 
> Loki is trying his hardest to not to tell me how he managed to get to New York and about his interaction with Steve.
> 
> Once again, feedback is a wonderful thing and thank you all for reading :)


	4. Changes in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds himself back on Midgard. The need to hide has increased exponentially, especially when a familiar face makes an appearance.

Loki didn't think the investigators that had been crawling over the structure that he'd wound up in were very good at their job. He could hear their communication devices when they got close to him. If he had any magic to spare he would have made himself invisible or melted into the brick that his cheek was pressed against. They didn't seem interested enough, and so, never found him.

The snippets of communication that he heard told him that Thor and Jane had indeed arrived back here in the same spot that he had. They'd gone off and managed to defeat Malekith. There was some major property damage, but what else could be expected in the midst of battle? Well, good for them. Big deal.

He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Thor had left Midgard again when the battle was over. It was the not being sure that worried Loki the most. He had to move. This was the last place that Thor had come through from. He wasn't sure if the portal had closed. He wasn't sure if the portals ever fully closed. He couldn't take the risk of being found. He'd either be taken and sent to the healers and thrown back into his cell or simply taken and thrown back into his cell. No matter that he'd been instrumental in stopping Malekith. No matter that he'd played a part in avenging Frigga's death. No matter that he'd helped to protect the Aether from being used. No matter that Thor couldn't have done any of it without him.

Odin wouldn't care about any of that.

He didn't care when Frigga had gone to him, had begged for her son to be released. Had pleaded to let her boy be heard by the King and his council after he'd slipped up and gave her a hint that the events on Midgard had not been entirely under his own control.

Odin didn't care when he discovered his true parentage. Odin didn't care when Frigga plead for him. Odin wouldn't care when Thor told him about how Loki had helped, had been honorable.

"Fuck Odin."

It had taken more effort than he'd wanted to use, but the sound of his own voice, as thin as it was with agony and exhaustion, made him feel better. He felt like he still had a fighting chance.

But only if he could move.

Night fell. A few security lights came on. The investigators had long since packed up and gone. Loki was alone again. He lurched himself forward onto hands and knees. With some effort he shifted to use the wall as support so that he could lift himself to stand.

_"Oh, my."_ His head was spinning, but at least he hadn't made himself bleed again. At least the rain had stopped. Now all that was left was to figure out where on Midgard he was.

He walked slowly and deliberately away from the complex of buildings that he had wound up in. As he prodded his flesh through the hole in the front of his layers of leather and cloth it occurred to him that he stuck out like a sore thumb in his Asgardian garb. As he drew in ragged breath, golden light moved down over his body and transformed his clothes into something more common to this realm. The use of the magic left him feeling exhausted and trembling. The loss of the layers of leather left his skin in direct contact with the soaking wet clothing. He didn't have the energy to dry it by magic. What was that phrase that was so popular here? _"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."_ Well, then, he would be as mighty as Thor when he came through this. He was cold. He blamed the rain. He blamed Thor. Thor and rain usually went hand in hand.

Loki walked, his arms wrapped around his torso tightly, as if trying to keep himself from breaking apart. His hair was stuck to the sides of his face and the back of his neck. His body ached. The trembling he couldn't seem to control was making him nervous. He hugged himself tighter as he tried to call to mind anything from his previous visits to this realm that could give him a clue as to where he was. It was no good. Aside from New York, his last visit had been too long ago. Hundreds of years by Midgardian standards. Too much had changed.

He came across a bench and sat down. He put his heavy head into his hands and tried to think. It would be easier to get to where he wanted to be if he knew where he was. Easier to imagine the transition from one location to the other and make it happen. He should have refused. He should have left Thor on his own. He should have simply let Yggdrasil fall into darkness. The dark didn't bother him. Didn't frighten him.

Thor was the one who was afraid of the dark. Always needing Baldr close in order to sleep comfortably. Loki didn't care. There was nothing in the dark that didn't exist in the light as well. In the dark everything just looked the same. Shapes and shadows. In the dark he could be as strong as Thor or as bright as Baldr. In the dark his children were still with him. In the dark he could weave magic and play tricks and watch what happened without being discovered. In the dark he could pretend that he was truly Aesir. He could pretend that touching the Casket of Ancient Winters had not turned him blue. Had not revealed ugly markings on his smooth skin. Had not made his eyes red. His glittering, mischievous green eyes that Frigga could always read, even when he tried his hardest to conceal what was really going on within him. But if she came to his room while it was dark, if he refused to allow her to light a candle to drive the nightmares away, Frigga couldn't see his eyes. She wouldn't know that he had dreams of Jotunheim and Frost Giants and being small and cold and frightened. 

The darkness would have been better.

Tears threatened again. He wouldn't let them fall this time. He thought of the last moments he was on Midgard before he was dragged through time and space and across Yggdrasil's branches by Thor and the power of the Tesseract. Anger helped. A bitter smile rolled across his lips. "Puny god," he whispered. He was more like the big green rage monster than that man would like to know. He was always angry now. Ever since the Casket. Rage simmered just below the surface. It fed his magic. Twisted it. Gave it life.

Suddenly, the bench he was sitting on was no longer below him. His rear end came into sharp contact with the ground. _"Ow."_ He frowned as he looked around himself. Finally, someplace familiar. He did not know how he did it. He was not sure he cared how. Loki was sitting on the ground in the same spot that he was standing in when Thor took him away. He looked up toward the darkening sky. He must not have been near New York before, it had already been night where he was. As he looked up, a fat rain drop hit him squarely between the eyes.

Loki beat his fists against the ground in frustration. "Fucking rain."

He heard voices coming near. He struggled up onto his feet and looked about. There was a bridge down the path. He could take cover from the damned rain and sit for a moment to think about what his next move should be in the shelter or the shadowy archway the bridge created without being seen.

"Did you see him? I think it was Captain America. I'm not one hundred percent sure, I haven't seen him out of his uniform." The voice sounded young and feminine. Of course the Captain would have a female following. _Of course._

"Even if it wasn't him, he was super cute." Loki rolled his eyes. He much preferred the women on Asgard. Even if not all of them could claim honor as a warrior like Sif, they at least has a little bit more going on in their heads than the young women of this realm seemed to.

Loki leaned back against the brick and closed his eyes. Did the conversation he was listening to mean that the Captain was nearby? It would not do to have the Captain find him. As comically over the top as he felt the man was--did he not just perform a frighteningly accurate imitation of him?--Loki was certain that he wasn't actually one to be trifled with. The Captain refused to kneel.

But what to do?

He couldn't avoid the Captain or the group of misfits that called themselves "Avengers" forever, he wasn't sure he could even manage it for the next few minutes. He couldn't remain hidden the way he was. He was uncomfortable. He was cold. He was still trembling. He was tired. All Loki wanted to do was to find someplace to get dry and lay his body down comfortably to finish healing. He needed to disguise himself.

It would take too much energy, use up too much of his magic to wear someone else's face. He'd have to continue to wear his own.

Loki drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Several more and he felt that his body was as relaxed as it was going to get in this state. A final breath in and out again. Gold light radiated out in a halo from the crown of his head and moved down toward his toes. It was uncomfortable. He could feel his body changing. The planes of his face changed. Hard muscle and sinew softened. Hips shifted. Fingers thinned. His clothing felt different, fit different.

Loki stood. Tongue darted out over lips. Arms hugged the torso, once again feeling as though it would break apart at the slightest touch. The man who had slipped into the shadows beneath the archway stepped back out into the _damned rain_ and was not a man.

It had been quite a while since Loki had been a woman. He-now-she was not opposed to it. She just hadn't had a good enough reason to exist in this form in that while. Loki enjoyed being a woman, in fact. His tricks seemed that much more tricky. More cunning. Perhaps it was because when someone saw the God of Mischief coming or going, they expected just that. Mischief. When someone saw the elegant woman that Loki could become, had become, it was like a veil over their eyes without having to expend any extra magic. She simply had more fun.

Loki kept her arms around herself and her eyes on the ground in front of her. She was trying to remember the layout of the city. She hadn't really done much actual sight seeing the last time she was here. She barely registered that she knocked into something in her focus on moving forward.

"Hey--!"

Loki knew that voice. She kept moving forward, splashing through a puddle as she went. She heard the water continue to move behind her, could feel him coming closer. _No. No. No._ "Hey." His large, warm hand settled on her shoulder. "Are you--"

Loki whirled around and jumped backward. She held her hands in front of her, ready to draw on whatever reserves of magic she had left to keep the Captain from capturing her as she looked from his face to his hands and back. She wanted to ask him how long he would give her before he dragged her off to S.H.I.E.L.D. to in turn be dragged back to Asgard. As she searched his face, she realized that he did not recognize her. She stopped herself from speaking.

She was breathing heavily. She realized that the rage simmering below the surface was tinged with...not fear. Apprehension. She didn't completely trust that the Captain didn't know who she was. Her female form was not so utterly different than her male form. Frigga had once described her as her own twin.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" Loki didn't answer. The Captain repeated himself as he moved closer. Loki summoned energy from the air around herself. It felt charged. He was looming over her hunched over body. His arm moved closer and she put her hands up to guard herself as she shouted at him not to touch her.

He stepped back away from her but his arm remained. Loki no longer felt the rain beating against her scull. He said something about trying to help. Asked again if she was okay. She shook her head as the Captain studied her. She looked up at him through her eyelashes and a flicker of recognition went across his face. _No._ It faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. He continued to talk to her. To try to aid her. What was his game?

The Liesmith worked her verbal magic. She knew it was less than convincing but she just needed him to go away. She allowed him to walk her out of the park and across the road, past a fountain, toward the entrance of a building on the other side.

Loki watched the Captain as he left her. She watched him steal glances back at her before he disappeared down a flight of stairs.

Perhaps she wouldn't have to avoid the Captain and his Avengers after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go. All caught up on both Loki and Steve's ends. It'll be a Steve chapter next!
> 
> As always, feedback is a wonderful thing and thank you for reading.


	5. Small and Cold and Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor visits and informs the Avengers about the events after he returned to Asgard with Loki. Steve is overwhelmed.
> 
> WARNING: The Steve in my head struggles with what is probably PTSD.

It had been months since the incident in the park. Steve sometimes fooled himself into thinking that he had put the whole thing out of his mind. That those wild eyes weren't haunting him. He could tell himself that he wasn't looking for the woman every time he saw black hair or green irises and followed the person attached to them until they were out of his field of vision.

"Perhaps she reminded you of someone from before the--" Steve had put his hand up to stop Dr. Cooper from finishing. He didn't like to think about the people he knew before the ice. When he thought about them or talked about them during his therapy sessions, he'd always wind up going home and having nightmares in the dark. Nightmares in which he was small and cold and frightened.

He always woke up drenched in sweat and breathing hard. Once he was sure it wasn't just sweat. He'd stripped the bed and taken a scalding hot shower somewhere around three in the morning. He'd never told Dr. Cooper about it. He hadn't told anyone about it. It hadn't happened since then and if he could avoid thoughts of before the ice he might be able to avoid the nightmares and the sweating and the wet sheets all together.

But she still haunted him. She still seemed like something familiar and tangible but _just_ out of reach.

The Avengers had gotten word from Thor through Jane Foster that Loki was dead. He had helped Thor to defend her when she had been possessed by the Aether. He had taken out a particularly bad bad guy and had been run through with a nasty looking sword in the process. By Thor and Jane's accounts, the lunatic had died an honorable death. Sometime later, Thor had visited Stark Tower. He wore a black band around his bicep as a sign of mourning.

"The Allfather forbid me from returning to Svartalfheim to collect my brother's body." Thor's chin trembled as he spoke. "He was a criminal. Attempted patricide, fratricide, genocide. Destroyed a major Midgardian city. Unleashed the threat of Thanos upon Yggdrasil. Usurped the crown!" Thor imitated his father's voice. "I demanded a boat be burned anyway. Had a smith make a copy of his helm. Put it into the boat." Thor turned aside for a moment. Tony grew uncomfortable and got up to fix himself a scotch. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and placed it down on the table in front of Thor when he returned. Thor smiled sadly and accepted the beverage. "Those last hours. Working together. He was almost himself again. _'Trust my rage,'_ he told me. I did. He helped save us all."

The Avengers and Pepper were quiet. They couldn't reconcile the madman who had battled them with the man who sacrificed himself that Thor was describing. "Odin controls who gets into Valhalla. Freya would never accept him in her lands either. I only hope that he reached Helheim. His daughter would be glad to see him."

Steve had been quietly taking everything in. After watching and listening to Loki during that time, he knew there had to be something more than just an evil man there. Selvig had described a few times that Loki had seemed far away, like he was listening to something or someone. The scientist had said that most orders were issued or plans changed after those times. Had Loki been in control? After hearing all that Thor had to say, Steve wasn't so sure about that anymore.

"His daughter?" Steve perked up at that. After Thor's first visit, after the battle, Steve had brushed up on mythology. He'd consumed everything he could find on the Norse gods. Greek, Roman, Hindu, Native American, Celtic... If Thor and Loki and Odin were real? If Asgard and Jotunheim existed? How many other extra-terrestrial threats existed then? When would the next Loki-type invade Earth?

But more importantly, how many of the stories about Loki had the ancient Norse gotten right? Even if it was a fraction, Steve was surprised that Loki hadn't completely lost it much sooner. For all of the Trickster's not-so-nice-deeds, the punishments he received always seemed extreme. Having his children taken away from him alone was cruel.

Thor nodded and took a long swallow of beer. "Yes. Her name is Hel. She is the Queen of Helheim. She governs all souls who do not die in battle." The large man looked down at the proportionally smaller bottle in his hands. "Loki did not raise her, but they were not completely estranged. I am sure that if she found him or if he went to her...I'm sure she would welcome him home to her kingdom with open arms." Thor's chin was trembling again. "I am just sad that mother will not get to see him again. She so loved him." Thor went on to tell the group that she would visit Loki in his cell every day. Had made sure he had comforts and books to read. He hesitated before telling them how Frigga had died protecting Jane. He believed wholeheartedly that she was the reason Loki had agreed to help him battle against Malekith. "Seeing him the way he was in his cell after she was killed was difficult. Even after the Ragnarok prophesies and his sons... I do not think that I have ever seen him so completely _broken_."

Steve's head hurt as he tried to take it all in. He remembered how he'd felt when his own mother had died. How he had felt to wake up and find out that everyone he cared about was gone. But that was what Dr. Cooper was for. Loki would never get a Dr. Cooper. He would just rot. Alone. On Sparkle-whoosie.

It didn't seem fair.

Steve had left as soon as it seemed socially acceptable. Thor had left. Jane was going to be arriving back home in New Mexico from London where she had helped S.H.I.E.L.D. clean up the mess Malekith had made. Things had remained quiet and sad and awkward in his wake.

Steve did the only thing he thought would help to clear his head and sort through all of the new information that had been dumped into it: He got on the A train and went to Central Park.

Steve found a spot in the sun on the Great Lawn. He lowered himself down and sat cross legged. His phone was buzzing in his pocket. He took it out and scrolled through the series of text messages from Tony. _"I'm fine. Just needed to get out. Too heavy. At CP."_ He tapped the screen with his thumbs and pressed 'send' before he turned the phone off completely. The day was sunny and warm and he just wanted to sketch.

Steve pulled his sketchbook and box of charcoals out of his messenger bag. He flipped to the first blank page and picked up a piece of charcoal. He stared at the white page. He ran his fingers up and down the edge of the creamy, textured paper.

Nothing.

He sat there for a long time with no inspiration coming. His hand finally started moving and before he knew it, he was drawing Loki. It was the Loki he last remembered. Shackled and muzzled and bloodied. But there was still a wild fire in those green eyes. His brow was furrowed in accusation and betrayal. If looks could kill, Thor and the rest of them would have been dead several times over that day.

Steve had believed then, as he took off on his motorcycle, that Loki had looked that way because his plans had been foiled. Now he wasn't so sure of that.

Steve looked down at the finished drawing. He had to pat himself on the back a little bit. It was pretty good. He thought of the flesh-and-blood Loki. Picturing him broken the way Thor had described wasn't hard. Steve put his box of charcoals back into his bag and wiped the dust off of his hands into the lawn on either side of his body. Loki's body was still on Spatzlehop. Thor said he'd had to leave him to follow Malekith back to Earth. Odin had forbidden Thor from going back for the body.

Steve's vision grew blurry. He blinked tears back as visions of Bucky falling from the train flooded his mind. They'd never found his friend, but he knows now that they'd at least looked for him. He knew how Thor felt. Bucky was more than his friend. He was his brother. They'd adopted each other. Steve had understood the possibility that Bucky could have been gone, had begun to mourn, and then had found him. Had fought by his side only to lose him again. He knew _exactly_ how Thor felt.

"Dammit!"

Steve slammed his sketchbook closed and shoved it into his bag. He noticed a couple lounging on a picnic blanket nearby looking at him. "Sorry," he murmured. He started to put the strap of the messenger bag over his head when he saw her.

His heart jumped into his throat. His breath hitched in his chest. It had to be her. She was lounging a few yards away. Her torso was propped up against a backpack. There was a thick book in her hands. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and crossed casually at the ankle. She looked different. Dry. Rounder, less hollow face. Her hair was pulled back into a braid. A French braid. That's what Natasha had a called it when he watched her put one in her own hair one day while they were getting ready to spar. He'd watched the way her fingers had woven the strands of her silky red hair together and had been amazed that she didn't need a mirror or an extra set of hands to do it. And now here was that same braid woven with shiny black hair. It almost looked blue as the sun hit it. He watched her as she slipped her fingers between the pages of her book and turned to the next. He watched her tongue slide over her bottom lip. He watched the gentle breeze play with the few strands of artfully escaped hair about her face. She wasn't wearing her black tee shirt and dark jeans and trench coat. She was in a soft-looking emerald colored sweater that went down over her thighs. Black leggings disappeared into the tops of those same heavy boots, though.

That's how he was sure it was her. The boots. They'd been the first thing he's really taken in as she splashed through the puddle after she'd bumped into him and made him drop his umbrella.

Steve began to panic. His chest heaved. He gripped the strap of his bag tightly. As he continued to watch her, he began to think of deja vu. Of the ice. Of before the ice. Of waking up and everyone being gone. Of wild green eyes. Of a static charge in the air. Of the snow that Bucky had fallen toward. Of Loki's body lying cold and alone. Even though the sun was beating down on his shoulders, Steve felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He felt small. He felt afraid. Sweat beaded at his temples. 

He forced himself to move slowly. He willed his fingers to move away from the strap and to pluck his sunglasses from his collar and to put them on his face. He begged his legs to uncross and allow him to stand. He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the blank screen then picked up his pace as he strode away from the Great Lawn as if he suddenly realized he was late for something.

_A to the 4. Off at the museum. A to the 4. Off at the museum. A train. A train. Take the A train and transfer to the 4 train. Get off the train outside the Brooklyn Museum. Walk home. Atothefour. Atothefour. A TO THE FOUR._

Steve barely knew where he was or where he was going. He was just as unaware of the concerned looks he was getting from people on the street and passengers on the train as he was that the woman with the black hair and the wild green eyes watching him leave the park.

His hands shook as he tried again and again to put his key into the lock of his apartment door. He was tempted to just kick the door in. He paced down the hall and back to his door once. He finally got the key in. He dropped his keys and glasses and bag on the floor and headed straight for the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet with still-trembling fingers.

Captain Steve Rogers searched frantically for the bottle of pills that he'd picked up from the pharmacy months ago after he'd frozen up in the elevator at Stark Tower. After the rain and the woman with the green eyes and no umbrella. Razor, shaving cream, deodorant, band aids, sleeping meds all fell into the sink. The moments that it took him to rip the lid off the bottle he needed only frustrated him more. He turned the cold water on, not bothering to take anything out of the sink. He stuck his face under the faucet and swallowed the water and the dose of medication down.

Steve turned off the water and went into the short hallway between his bedroom and the bathroom. He let his back hit the narrow corner and sunk to the floor. He drew his knees up to his chest and his phone out of his pocket. He turned it on and noted the time. His whole body was shaking. He put the phone on the floor beside him and pressed his forehead to his knees, wrapped his arms around his shins and laced his fingers together.

After waiting what seemed an appropriate amount of time and still not feeling any better, Steve picked the phone back up and glanced at it to tap his thumb against the small icon with Dr. Cooper's picture and name in the top corner of the screen. As he put the phone to his ear and listened to it ring, he silently promised himself that he would thank Tony again for making him learn how to use it. The therapist's familiar voice reached him.

"Hello? Hello? Steve, are you there?" The tears he'd blinked back at the park rolled hotly down his cheeks.

Steve drew in a ragged breath and nodded as if the doctor could see him. He forced his voice to stay even and calm. "Hi. I'm here. Doc? I think I'm having an episode."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve didn't want this chapter written. He'd like you to know though, that seeing everything all typed out actually did make him feel better about it.
> 
> This chapter wound up being really personal and semi-therapeutic.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Feedback is a wonderful thing. I can't decide whether next up will be a Loki chapter or another Steve chapter. Steve's shaking his head at me, I think this one tired him out.


	6. Tailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki fears discovery and finds more complication than she thought she would.

Loki's stomach flipped over when she noticed the Captain settling himself onto the lawn near where she had planned to sit herself. She took a breath and reminded herself that he hadn't recognized her. At least he hadn't acknowledged that he recognized her.

She'd maintained a low profile for months. She'd tailed and observed each of the Avengers in turn and finally decided that they weren't after her. For now. She kept up with the news from what she now knew was London, the city that the portal had dumped out in and where Malekith had attempted to unleash the darkness. She knew that Thor was still here on Midgard.

In the photographs included in news articles and blog posts of her adopted brother, he sported a black band around his bicep. It made her sad. It made her head and her heart feel odd. She was sure that the band was to represent his mourning for Frigga. It couldn't have anything to do with her. No matter. She didn't feel that he was a threat to her anonymity just yet.

Loki shook her head and approached the spot she'd selected in spite of the Captain's presence. Or perhaps because of it. She plopped her backpack on the ground and dropped into the grass unceremoniously to fish her book out. She settled comfortably against her bag, stretched out her legs, and began to read.

The warm sun and the gentle breeze felt glorious. It was the first time she'd really spent any long period of time outside during the day in what seemed like ages. As part of her low profile, she'd found a trade and a small place to live. She'd found _two_ trades. During the day she worked in a library in a neighborhood called "Hell's Kitchen." Loki smiled every time she walked into the building. Her own Hel would no doubt find the name amusing. Thinking of Hel sometimes was the only thing that got her through the day. Even if Loki herself had no more hope of ever coming into the throne of Asgard, Hel was still a Queen. She still knew exactly who she was. She had power. She could make decisions. She, hopefully, could never be used as a political tool. At least not without whoever was trying to use her feeling her wrath.

Loki's second trade was that of serving wench. She had found a new respect for and understanding of how the servants in the palace felt during feasts when Thor and Fandral and Volstagg pawed at them drunkenly. She was seriously considering leaving that job. There was a small coffee house near the apartment she lived in that was looking for help. But the tips...

She couldn't understand how more Midgardians were not living on the street. Or raving lunatics.

Loki focused on her book while the Captain focused on what she assumed to be a drawing in his lap. Her body tensed when she heard him curse. She pretended to focus on the text in front of her, but her ears and peripheral vision were trained on the Captain. He was shoving things into the bag he had beside him. His demeanor had completely changed. He was making her nervous. The Midgardians around them on the lawn seemed to be getting apprehensive as well. He was looking at her. She could feel his eyes burning into her. She could tell he was panicking and was terrified that she'd been discovered.

When he finally rose from the lawn and started walking briskly away she realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out as she watched him. When he was far enough away that he wouldn't be likely to notice her, she closed her book, picked up her back pack and followed.

He was muttering something about trains and museums as he made his way purposefully toward the subway platform. She realized that he was heading back to his own home. Loki ducked into a corner and disappeared.

She reappeared near the brick building that the Captain called home and waited. She watched from the opposite corner as he went through the front door. She waited a beat before following.

The Captain went up two flights of stairs and paused at the door at the end of the hall. Loki remained below the landing, watching. He seemed to be having trouble with his keys. She covered her mouth to conceal her sharp gasp and ducked down as he headed back toward the landing. Relief washed over her when he immediately turned back, opened his door, and went inside. Loki walked quietly to the Captain's door and pressed her ear to it, using magic to attempt to amplify what little sound she could hear from inside the dwelling. She heard things hitting a hard surface. Water turning on and off. A few footsteps back toward her. Silence.

Loki put her back to the Captain's door and slid down to the floor before turning to press her ear against it once more. After a while there was sound. Hard breathing. Soft, choked sobs. One half of a conversation. She assumed he was on the phone and realized whatever was going on was most likely very personal.

She suddenly felt as though she should not be there. She was invading the man's privacy. She was no better than a gossipy palace servant.

Loki picked herself up off the floor, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way back down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. She walked slowly through the neighborhood and into her own building. As she closed the door and crossed to the kitchen to pull a bottle of water out of the fridge she couldn't help but wonder what was going on in that blonde head?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one. Loki really isn't forthcoming with details. I was going to split this chapter between Steve and Loki, but this felt like a good spot to stop.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and feedback is welcome.


	7. Serving Wench

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki seeks new employment and continues to watch the Captain.

Loki was worried. It would sound vain if she ever voiced the opinion out loud, but she really did think that whatever was going on with the Captain, whatever had made him act so strange and nervous on the Great Lawn, had something to do with her. It was centered around her, actually.

In the time she had spent on Midgard assimilating to the local culture, she'd healed fully. She'd also managed to recover a large deal of her magic. It had surprised her at how much she really needed to devote to keeping Heimdall from being able to find her. She was constantly nervous that any large bit of spellwork would undo the precarious balance of magic and energy that she had to maintain. Teleporting was easy enough, but maintaining invisibility took too much. She needed to be invisible to continue to watch the Captain, though.

Loki had chosen the apartment she was living in for two reasons:

1\. It was close to the Captain. Even before the Great Lawn, she'd felt she needed to watch him. He was too interested in her that night in the rain. And for all his brawn and soldierly obedience, the Captain was smart. At least if she was close by, she could watch casually for signs that he had caught on.

2\. It was cheap. At least it was cheap by the standards of this city.

Loki had been watching the Captain's building for almost a week. He hadn't reappeared. People had been going into the building. The lights in the windows she knew were his went on and off predictably. But the Captain never emerged.

Loki grew familiar with the faces that went in and out of the building on a schedule. Early in the morning and in the evening around dinner time, the therapist arrived. Doctor...something. At lunch time the spider arrived. The redhead presented an expression and a stance that said nonchalance but screamed concern to anyone who managed to watch closely enough. Those that didn't arrive on schedule didn't seem to stay long and didn't come at predictable times. The man who wore the metal suit and had offered Loki a drink once arrived sporadically. Sometimes he showed up more than once in a day. He never stayed longer than ten or fifteen minutes. The man who became the rage monster stopped in twice. The length of his stay was longer than the metal suit's, but not long enough to be considered anything other than stopping in. The man who's mind Loki had controlled came once, arriving with the spider. What was his name? Agent Barton. Hawkeye. He'd looked nervous going in and downright uncomfortable when he came out again with the spider.

"Natasha," he combed his fingers through his short hair and slipped purple-tinted sunglasses over his eyes, "I just don't get it. I'm sorry. He was fine. He was quiet, kind of a loner...but fine. Did he really just _snap_?" The spider had given him a look that made him shrink in on himself and shove his hands into his pockets and look at the ground. "No, Clint. He didn't just _snap_. And he wasn't _fine_. The fact that no one noticed is shameful." Natasha shook her head, "We were all just so wrapped up in ourselves. I can't believe _I_ didn't see it. I just thought he was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that he missed so much." She looked away from Barton and glared accusingly at the mailbox on the corner. Barton hesitantly put his arm around her shoulder and she shrugged it off, walked more purposefully.

The man Loki had stabbed came once as well, toward the end of the week. He arrived in evening with the therapist. That was how Loki knew the person was a doctor, it was what Agent Coulson had called him. She'd caught a snippet of conversation about regression and flash-backs and medication. The agent looked distressed when he emerged but had said nothing to indicate what was going on inside the apartment.

As interested in what was going on with the Captain as Loki was, she still had to be interested in her own self-preservation. That now included getting the fuck away from the drunks at the bar she served at. She was tired of being pawed at and threatened and oogled. The coffee shop down the block looked better and better. Finally, on the third day that Captain was hold-up in his apartment, Loki went into the shop and took the job. It appeared the manager was more desperate than the cheery-looking "Help Wanted" sign implied. Working at the coffee shop wasn't that different than the bar in terms of skills and tasks. It was easy. It was pleasant. Most times the people that came into the shop hardly noticed her as she placed mugs of steaming beverages down on the table beside them. They were too busy _tap-tap-tapping_ away on the keyboards of their laptops or the screens of their tablets. It was fine with her. The point of being here on Midgard; of being a woman; of assimilating into local life was, was to _not_ be noticed.

On the fourth day of Loki's employment, Natasha walked into the shop. Loki froze, forgot what she was doing, and wound up with hot milk from the steamer splattered across her face. "Shit," she cursed under her breath. At least the customer she was supposed to be helping hadn't noticed, he was too busy _tap-tap-tapping_ on the screen of his phone. She traded the coffee for his money and stepped away from the counter to wipe the milk splatter off of her face and dab at the front of her blouse and apron. When she stepped back to the counter, Natasha was waiting.

Loki took a deep breath and smiled as brightly as she could. "Hi! What can I get for you?" Natasha blinked at her a few times and narrowed her eyes. _Fuck._

"Do I know you?" _No. No. No. Nononono._

Loki narrowed her own eyes and looked hard at Natasha. "I don't..think...so?" Natasha continued to look at her, searching. "I just moved here. To New York. Recently." Loki looked toward the only other employee, he was busy trying to flirt with some girl who clearly didn't want to be bothered. "From As--" She turned her face into her sleeve and pretended to clear her throat. "From Arizona." Natasha nodded, but didn't take her eyes off of Loki. "So...What can I get you?"

Natasha chewed the inside of her cheek. She glanced up at the chalkboard menu and ordered a mocha and a dark roast, black-no-sugar. Loki nodded and poured her focus into pouring the drinks. The manager came out from the storage room as she was handing the assassin her change. "Hey! I know you!" Loki cringed. "You're a friend of Steve's, right?" Natasha nodded and said she was bringing the coffee back to him. "I should have known when you ordered. I think he's the only person who ever comes in here and doesn't order something that's more syrup and cream than actual coffee." The manage chuckled amiably. "How is he? He usually comes in around 5:30, after his run in the morning. Haven't seen him in a while." Why didn't Loki know that? Dammit. Natasha said that Steve was under the weather and hadn't gotten out to do much of anything. The manager frowned. "That guy? Geeze, he's healthy as a horse." His eyes swept over the counter. "Know what? We've got all this extra dark roast since he hasn't been in..." Natasha was clearly getting antsy. The manager put a pound-sized burlap bag into Loki's hand and indicated for her to hold it open while he poured freshly ground coffee into it. The manager took the bag back from her and tied it off before handing it to Natasha. "On the house. So he can have his 5:30 coffee even if he can't come in." Natasha thanked him and assured him that Steve would be grateful as well. Loki watched her as she left and crossed the street, saw the assassin steal a glance over her shoulder toward the window and at Loki still standing behind the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes. That's a lot of subscriptions and hits. Thank you guys so much! I really hope you're enjoying the story. Let me know in the comments what you think so far!


	8. Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets help.

Steve was going through the motions. 

Dr. Cooper had stayed on the phone with him that day until he'd calmed down. The next morning the doctor was at his door. Evidently, Fury had wanted the doctor to either talk him into coming into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters "for an evaluation and observation" or pull him in by force. Steve just shook his head. Dr. Cooper put a hand on Steve's shoulder. It looked like Steve had slept in the clothes he was wearing. He had. "Look, Steve, I'm not going to haul you in to HQ. That'll only do you more harm than good. I know that and you know that." Steve looked up at the doctor, hopeful. "I'm not even asking you to come into my office. You can stay here." Steve let out a relieved breath. "On one condition." Of course there was a catch. "You've _got_ to let me in."

Steve pointed out that Dr. Cooper was indeed "in." He was sitting in the apartment, no? "No, I mean in here." The therapist tapped the side of Steve's head. "You come into my office for every appointment. You answer questions. You stay for the allotted time. You leave." Steve asked what more he should be doing. "You never actually tell me anything. I can't help you...I can't give you the help you _need_...Unless you tell me what's going on with you." Steve sighed heavily.

"I've given you meds for your anxiety. I've given you meds for your insomnia. Neither is helping, clearly. So maybe just anxiety and insomnia isn't the problem." Steve asked if the doctor thought he was crazy. No, he didn't. He just thought that there was more going on.

"Doc, do you think I'm unfit for service?" Steve felt like the Hulk was squeezing his heart so hard that it was going to burst.

Dr. Cooper shook his head. "No, I don't think that you're unfit for service, Captain Rogers."

Steve cried then. Before he knew what was happening, he was talking. Tony would have said something like he was "spewing word vomit." And up it all came.

Dr. Cooper came early in the morning. They ate breakfast and talked. Sometimes the doctor brought food with him. Sometimes Steve dragged himself out of bed or off the couch and cooked. They repeated the ritual at dinner.

At lunch, Natasha came. She talked about S.H.I.E.L.D. and the team. She said they missed him. They were worried. Pepper wanted to come over. Steve didn't want her to. She brought Clint one day. The afternoon passed slowly and uncomfortably. Clint looked like he was ready to jump out of the window to escape after the first fifteen minutes.

Stark showed up a few times. After agonizing intervals of talking through the closed door, Tony would leave. Tony's appearances always included the request to move in to Stark Tower. "You shouldn't be alone like this," he would insist, "and I know Bruce would like the company. He's all alone on the Avengers' floor." 

Bruce stopped by twice. Steve cracked the door open for him, but the man remained in the hallway. The first visit was to apologize for Stark's bluntness. He meant well. The second visit was to assure Steve that Bruce was there to talk if Steve ever wanted to. Steve thanked him and sent him away.

It had been about a week. Steve hadn't left his apartment. Dr. Cooper arrived in the morning for breakfast. Steve had already started sweating onions to make omelettes when the therapist arrived. Steve focused on slicing through the bell pepper on the cutting board in front of him while the doctor started whisking eggs together in a bowl.

"We might have to play with the dosages a little. We don't know how the meds will work with your metabolism, if the effects of the serum will change the effectiveness of the meds." Steve nodded and chewed. "We'll start with sertraline and see where to go from there." Steve asked what that was, the doctor explained that it was an anti-depressant. It might cause insomnia among other things, but it was a starting point.

Steve laughed. Dr. Cooper looked startled. "Doc, I'm awake most of the night as it is. When I do sleep, I'm having nightmares and wetting the bed. Insomnia and the runs don't seem like such a big deal." Steve continued to laugh. Dr. Cooper couldn't help but join him. It was the first time he'd seen the man smile in months, the first time he'd ever heard him laugh at all. Even if it was dark humor, it was still humor.

They discussed medication options while they finished eating. "My official diagnosis is post-traumatic stress." Steve tensed. He'd heard stories. He'd heard countless stories about men and women coming home from war and having breakdowns or just ending it. Dr. Cooper put the dishes in the sink. "Steve, look at me." The soldier lifted his eyes from the tabletop to the doctor's face. "That's not going to happen to you, Steve. Most of them..." He sighed and dragged his fingers though his hair. "Most of them don't get treatment. Or at least don't get proper treatment. A lot of the ones that do wind up not taking their meds properly because they're afraid of the side effects or becoming dependent. Too many of them don't have support systems."

Steve looked at the doctor, confused. "Steve, you have the Avengers. You have friends, whether you want to admit it or not. Natasha is here every day, isn't she?" The doctor crossed his arms and looked at Steve, suddenly realizing something. "She reminds you of Peggy. That's why you let her in."

Steve blushed so hard that the tips of his ears looked purple. "Yeah," he choked out. The therapist said he didn't have to talk about it. Not today at least. "Thanks."

Dr. Cooper glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. I have a few patients lined up today. I'll be back at dinner time." Steve nodded and walked the doctor toward the door. "Fury wanted to come today, but I talked him out of it. He's sending Coulson, instead."

Steve closed his eyes and sighed, "So much for doctor-patient-confidentiality." The therapist assured him that he'd discussed nothing with Fury that wasn't absolutely necessary. S.H.I.E.L.D. had ordered Steve's therapy, after all, and they were who the doctor's contract was with. "We're not going to discuss anything...personal...in front of Coulson, right?" The doctor confirmed it. He was just going to be there to make an evaluation and report back to the agency. Steve's business was Steve's business. "Alright."

The doctor paused in the hallway and looked at Steve standing in the doorway. "You're going to be okay, Steve." Steve smiled and shut the door quietly.

Natasha arrived promptly at noon, just like she did every day. "Take a shower and put clean clothes on, Cap." He looked at her in disbelief. "You're going outside today. We're going down the block and we're going to have lunch at that coffee shop." Steve shook his head. He couldn't. He wasn't ready. Natasha could see him digging his heels in. "Fine." He looked relieved. "But you have to go outside eventually." She drummed her fingertips against the door frame. "Take a shower and get dressed at least." That he could handle. She passed him a paper bag with heroes in it. "I'll go get the coffee." She hesitated for a moment. "We can eat on the fire escape." Steve nodded slowly, it felt like a good compromise. He took some bills out of the wallet sitting on the table beside the door and pressed them into Natasha's hand, insisting to be allowed to pay for the coffee.

"Dark roast. Black. No sugar."

Natasha was quiet when she got back. Steve thought it was odd. Natasha was usually quiet, but she seemed to be mulling something over. He could see the wheels turning. Steve gulped in air as he opened the window and climbed through out onto the fire escape. He took a deep, shaky breath. The fresh air felt good. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes. It was a good hurt, though. He turned toward the window and Natasha's soft smile. She passed him the sandwiches and coffee and allowed him to help her through the window. "The guy in the coffee shop sent over a pound of coffee and some well wishes." Steve started to panic. She laid a hand on his forearm and rubbed her thumb back and forth until his knuckles weren't white any more. "I didn't say anything to him. That's not my place. I said you were under the weather." 

Steve nodded and took a long sip of the hot coffee. "Gosh, I missed that." He smiled and looked at Natasha out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't smiling back. "What's wrong?"

Natasha sighed and sipped her own coffee. "I think I found that woman." Steve choked on the bite of sandwich he had taken. He didn't need clarification on who she was talking about. "She's a server at the coffee shop. She was behind the counter when I went in. Said she just moved here from Arizona." Steve just listened quietly. Natasha didn't mention that she thought she'd seen the woman before. She couldn't place it and she didn't want to ruin the progress Steve had made when she wasn't totally sure.

The rest of their lunch went quietly. Natasha had to get back to the agency for a briefing. "I think they're sending me on a busy-work mission." She rolled her eyes and opened the door. "You look good Steve. It'll be nice to have you back." He smiled and nodded and closed the door after she disappeared down the stairs.

Steve braced himself when he heard Dr. Cooper knock on the door. He didn't really want to face Coulson. He was still having a hard time getting used to the man's hero-worship. He constantly felt like he was letting Coulson down. Couldn't understand why he was the man's hero at all. He put on the Captain's face as he opened the door.

The agent was holding two boxes of pizza and wearing an awkward, lopsided smile. "Hello, Captain." Steve nodded and stepped aside to allow the men into the apartment. Dinner was even more awkward than Coulson's smile.

"I don't think Captain Rogers needs to be on anti-psychotics and I don't think that he needs to be taken out of the initiative, either. With consistent, proper treatment--therapy and anti-depressants--and a positive outlook, I think that he'll be fine."

Coulson wiped his mouth and shook his head. "I...I just can't wrap my head around how any of this is possible." Steve stood up and collected the garbage off of the table, slipped the pizza boxes behind the can. "I mean...You're Captain America! The serum--"

Steve whirled around and crossed the room. He gripped the front of the agent's shirt and jacket in his fists and lifted him out of the chair he was sitting in. Dr. Cooper rose out of his own seat and gripped Steve's bicep, the therapist's calm voice did nothing to soothe him.

"Agent Coulson, I am not _just_ Captain America. I am _Steve Rogers._ I was born in the beginning of the century. I was picked for a project and I went to war. I watched my best friend fall hundreds of feet off a train to his death after defending me. I was lost on a mission and woke up not just in a strange place but in a strange time. Everyone, everything I knew and loved is _gone_. This world is not _mine._ These people are not _mine._ But they still want things from me. They still want everything from me." Steve's face was red. Spittle flew from his mouth and hit Coulson in the face or clung to Steve's bottom lip. "I'm Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, New York. _Steve Rogers_ needs help. The serum may have changed my _body_ , but it didn't change my _mind_ or my _heart_." He lowered Coulson back into his seat.

The agent and the soldier were both breathing heavily. Coulson's eyes were wide, his mouth open. Steve's hands came up to cover his face as he backed up toward the kitchen counter and hunched over. The veins in his temple throbbed. He refused to cry in front of Coulson.

"I think we're done here." Dr. Cooper's voice was soft and quiet. "Agent Coulson, I'll go back to headquarters with you to brief the director and fill out my evaluation." The agent straightened the front of his shirt and his jacket and allowed himself to be led out of the apartment by the doctor. Steve followed them to the door.

"I'm sorry, doc."

"I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to, Steve."

Steve nodded. Coulson was already halfway to the floor below. He would speak to him first thing when he got back to the office.

Steve sat and stared at the television for a few hours, not really absorbing anything. At 9 he change from the clothes Natasha had required him to put on into a pair of pajama pants. He pulled his sketchbook out of his messenger bag. He hadn't touched it since the day at the park.

Steve sat in bed with a blank page in front of him, the last one in the book. He took a deep breath, picked up a pencil from his nightstand, and began to draw. When his eyes grew heavy he closed the book on the drawing of a gaunt face with a bee-stung bottom lip and cupid's bow, a drop of water making it's way down the elegant curve of the nose. He got up and placed the book onto the shelf with his others.

For the first time in months, Steve slept dreamlessly though the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still baffled at how many readers and subscriptions that this story has gotten.
> 
> Steve had a hard time with this chapter. He's glad that there were two Loki chapters between his last chapter and this one.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos!


	9. Onheil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve feels like a new man. He ventures outside and makes some discoveries.

It was Sunday again. Sunday had been the last time Steve had left the safety of his apartment. He'd woken feeling rested and refreshed. If he'd had dreams he couldn't remember them. A frown settled over his mouth as he rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked at the clock. He'd missed Mass.

Somehow, he didn't think that God would mind.

Steve laid in bed for a while longer, relishing in the warmth of his comforter and pillows. What to do today? For the first time in a week, he felt like leaving the apartment. He unplugged his phone from the charger and scrolled through several missed text messages from Natasha. Evidently she had been at S.H.I.E.L.D. when Coulson and Dr. Cooper had arrived the evening before. The groupings of concerned text messages from Natasha were peppered with snarky and disbelieving messages from Tony who claimed to have heard about Coulson from Clint. How he hadn't been woken by the sound of the phone beeping that many times he didn't know.

_"I'm fine, N. Pls dnt come ovr." tap-tap-tap-send_

_"I feel good. Srsly." tap-tap-tap-send_

_"Just got up. Going for a run." tap-tap-tap-send_

_"Tony, knock it off." tap-tap-tap-send_

Steve dragged himself out of bed and lazily put on sweats and a tee shirt and his running shoes. He could hear the bing-bing-bing of new text messages reaching him as he brushed his teeth and tried to make his hair lie flat.

_"Look at you! Text-speak AND leaving the house :D"_

_"Good to have you back, Capsicle."_

_"Come ovr later. Pepper is beside herself."_

_"Maybe. A lot to do. Give P a hug." tap-tap-tap-send_

Steve smiled and slipped the armband that had a slot for his phone over his bicep. He tapped the icon for the music application and dug a pair of earbuds that Tony had insisted he buy from the drawer in this nighstand. Earbuds in, phone in the slot, keys in hand. Steve turned his arm to tap 'play' and headed out.

_My heart is sad and lonely. For you I sigh, for you dear only. Why haven't you seen it? I'm all for you body and soul._

Steve smiles and inclines his head when he hears a neighbor out walking his dog call out to him. Somewhere during the last week he'd forgotten how much he really enjoyed his neighborhood.

_I spend my days in longing and wondering why it's me you're wronging? I tell you I mean it: I'm all for you, body and soul._

Steve turned the corner and continued running. He liked the feel of the late morning sun on his skin. He felt like a snake shedding an old skin as the sun warmed him and he created wind with the swift movement of his body.

_I can't believe it. It's hard to conceive it--that you'd turn away romance. Are you pretending? It looks like the ending; unless I could have just one more chance to prove, dear..._

There was nothing like a good night's sleep and a good morning's run. He picked up his speed a little bit to ensure he made the traffic signal up ahead.

_My life a wreck you're making. You know I'm yours for just the taking. I'll gladly surrender myself to you, body and soul._

The final chorus repeated itself. Steve added another line to the mental list of things to thank Tony for. Being able to listen to his favorite music from before the ice, before the war, was grounding. Whatever records he'd expressed an interest in that he couldn't find himself, Tony had hunted down on the internet and shown him how to load it onto the phone through a computer.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told Tony he had a lot to do today. His mind shifted to a different mental list.

_Pharmacy_

_Groceries_

_Art store_

There was more he knew he had to do but he couldn't call it forward. Living like a hermit for a week had made his mind sluggish. Maybe he just wanted an excuse to avoid Stark Tower. Tony was a lot to handle. But if he went over with the reasoning that he was just there to utilize the training floor...

Steve ran through a few more songs, covering his usual route. He acknowledged people as he passed them or they greeted him. As he jogged in place at a red light a neighbor from the building across the street from him inquired as to why she hadn't seen him in a while. Steve's breath hitched a little and his fingers clenched a bit tighter. "I had a bug or something. Felt awful. I'm much better now, though." Steve smiled and silently prayed that she wouldn't press him any farther. Thankfully she didn't and turned in the opposite direction after wishing him well.

Steve set his sights on the coffee shop at the end of the block as he turned crossed the street and turned the corner toward the end of his route. There were people coming out. It was the Sunday brunch hour, the shop would be crowded. He didn't mind. The couple exiting stopped to hold the door for someone going inside. Even from this distance he could make out the shiny black hair that glistened almost blue in the sunlight. It wasn't woven into a French braid this time. It was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. It reminded him of a style his mother had worn when he was young. _"Gibson Girl."_

Steve tripped over his own two feet. His hands shot out in front of himself to break his fall. "Ow." He stood back up and brushed gravel off of his palms. "Hey! You okay?" someone across the street called to him. The woman with the black hair and no umbrella stopped and watched. Steve's ears turned pink. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever fallen or tripped. The serum had made that a rarity at best. He waved to the person who had called to him, "Fine! Thanks!" The woman had disappeared inside the coffee shop.

Steve slipped the band off of his arm and turned the music off. He shoved the whole thing into the pocket of his sweatpants as he slowed his jog to a walk and approached the shop himself.

As he stepped inside, he was smacked in the face by the scents of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods. He inhaled deeply and couldn't help but smile. His eyes swept over the slightly crowded interior. He didn't see the woman. It didn't look like there were any available seats. He hoped that something would open up by the time he made his way up in the line to the counter. Now that he was out, he didn't want to go back to the apartment.

It was finally his turn at the counter. "Dark roast, black, no sugar." The young man behind the counter's expression brightened. "Steve! You're back!" Steve smiled and nodded. "Feeling better? Your redheaded friend said you were sick." Steve responded in the affirmative. The young man's eyes swept over the crowded room. His eyes fell on a table tucked into the corner where there were open containers for sugar and a large sack of the sweet stuff sitting on the floor beside it. "Come sit here, she can do this in the back." Steve followed the young man to the table and helped him to screw the lids back onto the sugar containers and put them onto the tray sitting on the table. He took the tray into the back and then came back to drag the sack of sugar away as well. "I just put a fresh pot on. It'll be a few minutes." Steve thanked the server and settled into the seat. His phone bing-bing'ed in his pocket and he fished it out.

_"Stop by the coffee place."_

_"I'm there."_

_"Looking for that woman?"_

_"Looking for a fresh cup o' joe."_

_"So, you're looking for her."_

_"I have to, N."_

_"I know."_

Footsteps approached the table and came to a stuttering stop. A shadow fell across the tabletop as Steve tapped 'send.' He looked up, expecting his coffee to be sitting in front of him. Instead, it was her.

Steve nearly dropped his phone and he opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish. A light blush spread across the woman's cheeks and nose. "I was filling the sugars."

"I'm so sorry. I..he..he told me to sit here. I...I'll move." Steve started to rise from his seat.

"No," the woman put her hands up. He couldn't help but think back to the first time he'd seen her make that gesture. "Please, sit. It's crowded. I don't see any other spots. I can finish in the back." Steve slowly sat back down. The woman turned her head as if someone had called her. The young man behind the counter was waving her over, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. "Just a minute."

Steve watched her walk away. His eyes consumed every last inch of her. The curve of her neck as it met her shoulders. The whispy hairs that escaped her Gibson Roll at her neck. The pale-as-porcelain quality of her skin. He could just make out the outline of her undergarment beneath the cream colored blouse. Her blue jeans hugged her hips and legs and disappeared into the tops of those same heavy boots. She looked lithe and voluptuous all at the same time. Even in the clunky-looking boots, she seemed to move gracefully.

He pretended he hadn't been watching her as she turned and came back to his table, mug in hand. The maroon apron she wore hid most of the front of her. She placed the mug on the table. "So you're Mr. Black-No-Sugar."

He smiled sheepishly and nodded, "Steve." He held out his hand. There were so many things he wanted to say to the woman. So many questions he wanted to ask. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that his hair must be sticking up and messy. He could feel some of it stuck to his skin around his temples.

She took his hand and shook it once firmly. It was cool and thin but had surprising strength. It wasn't anything like he would imagine the frightened, wet creature he met months ago could possibly posses. "Hi, Steve."

"And you're..."

She pointed to the shiny name tag pinned to the front of her apron. "Onheil."

Steve furrowed his brow. He'd yet to withdraw his hand. She made no move to either. "Angel?" She shook her head and repeated herself, drawing out each syllable. Steve raised an eyebrow and tried again, "Ahhn-hay-ll."

She laughed quietly and smiled, "Close enough." Their hands were still clasped over the table. The steam from the mug of coffee winding it's way around them. Onheil narrowed her eyes at him. Steve couldn't look away from them. They glittered. They had life. They were so unlike everyone else.  _"What am I, sixteen?"_

Onheil started to pull her hand away, "Do I know you?"

Steve withdrew his own. He nodded slowly, "I think so." Onheil turned away from him again and said she'd be back in a moment. She retrieved a tray full of drinks and made her way over to a table on the other side of the room. After she'd placed them down and returned the tray she came back to him. "You were saying?"

"A few months ago? It was raining pretty hard. Early evening. Central Park, near Columbus Circle." He watched as her eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. "You didn't have an umbrella."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Steve finally found her.
> 
> I've always wanted to write a cliffhanger and now I have! :D It feels wonderful.
> 
> I didn't want to stop here, but it's quite late in my neck of the woods and I wanted to get this posted. Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> On a side note, I do have one reader who has made a request about something they wanted to see happen in the story. If you leave a request for an event or a scenario in the comments and I think it will work with the story, I'll do my best to incorporate little reader-request-easter-eggs in the coming chapters.
> 
> Oh! And the song Steve is listening to on his run is "Body and Soul" by Libby Holman.


	10. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki panics.

Loki turned to watch as the Captain hit the ground. She had to suppress a laugh at his expense. Even from this distance she could see his ears get flushed with color when someone across the street asked if he was okay.  _Shit._  He was getting up and coming in this direction.

She didn't know why she was surprised. The manager had mentioned yesterday when the spider had come in that the Captain was a regular customer. Maybe because it wasn't 5:30 in the morning. Maybe because he hadn't left his apartment in a week. Maybe because he was usually at his house of worship at this time on a Sunday. She should have known. She should have been prepared for an encounter.

She should have quit yesterday.

That wasn't an option, though. She liked it here. And there was no way that she could maintain even her tiny household on the salary from the library alone. Maybe she could live without lights for a few weeks while she found a different job. There wasn't electricity on Asgard the was there was here. She'd grown up by candle- and fire-light.

Options raced through Loki's head as she strode swiftly through the front of the shop and into the back room. She chucked her backpack into the corner, punched her card, and dragged the large sack of sugar from the store room out toward a table tucked into the corner near the counter. She returned again with a tray full of clean sugar dispensers from the dishwasher. She sat and finished tying the maroon apron around her waist as she watched the Captain enter the shop and look around.  _"He's looking for me. He has to be."_

Loki mechanically began to fill sugar dispensers, barely watching what she was doing, her eyes glued to the Captain. At least he didn't seem to have noticed her, yet. And from here she could reasonably keep an eye on him without being seen. Oh gosh, he was ordering.  _Dammit._  Loki put the lid in her hand down on the table and fled to the safety of the ladies' room. She locked the door and pressed her back to it as she began to hyperventilate.  _"It's fine. He's a regular. He doesn't usually come in at this time anyway. It's a one time deal. There aren't any tables open. All the bar stools by the windows are full. He can't stay. He'll get his coffee and he'll go away. Probably won't come out again for another week."_

Someone knocked rapidly on the door, startling Loki. She turned and knocked back, "Occupado!" She sent out a bit of magic toward whomever was on the other side of the door and willed them away. She had to calm herself down. If she just focused on the task she'd been doing, she would be fine. He'd probably even be gone by the time she got back to the table she'd been sitting at. Loki let out a slow breath and left the bathroom, internal arguments still raging in her head.

She stopped short when she reached her table. There he was.  _Tap-tap-tapping_  on a phone, just like everyone else. But he wasn't like anyone else, that she knew quite well and first-hand. He didn't look any worse for wear after his little trip. His skin looked flushed from his run, but clearly he hadn't even broken much of a sweat. He looked up at her expectantly and then almost dropped the phone in his hands. He was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. She'd been found. That was it. Any moment, Thor would appear and it would start fucking raining again, and he would drag her back to Asgard. At least she could go kicking and screaming.

"I was filling the sugars." Loki could feel herself blushing in frustration and fear. " _Oh yes, I was filling the sugars. I escaped death to come to Midgard just to find out what the local fascination with plant-based sweetener was all about. Smooth."_

The Captain stuttered out an apology and tried to get up from the seat she'd been in just a few moments before. This was it. These were her last moments of freedom. She knew it. She told him to sit back down, there was no place else for him to go.  _"Except home. Go home. Leave."_ She was hesitant to use magic, afraid he might catch on then if by some miracle he hadn't already. The only other server, who was covering the counter called her name. At least, he called the name she was using. It certainly wouldn't do to go around looking like herself and telling people her name was 'Loki.' If that didn't make people suspicious, nothing would. He had a mug of coffee in his hands and was waving her over. "Just a minute."

Loki could feel the Captain's eyes on her as she walked away. "Bring this over to him." Loki took the mug from her co-worker's hand and went back to the Captain, focusing on not allowing her hands to tremble as she placed the mug down on the table in front of him. "So you're Mr. Black-No-Sugar." She could feel her heart pumping wildly in her chest. She was sure he could hear it.  _"No, you're Captain America. You've come to take me away...please don't._

The Captain smiled and nodded at her. He seemed so young when he smiled. She knew he was somewhere just south of 100 years old. He just seemed  _so_  young. Except for his eyes. They sparkled like ice in sunshine, like nothing on Jotunheim ever did. They crinkled at the edges with his expression and seemed to be shouting at her, trying to communicate all the unspoken words behind the single one that left his lips as he held out his hand, "Steve."

She took his offered hand and shook it. Maybe he really didn't know. Either that or he was an exceptional actor. Perhaps he'd been taking lessons from the spider. His skin felt hot against her own. His palm and fingers were rough. They reminded her of a smith's hands or a carpenter's. Someone who used their hands rather than just sat on a throne all day issuing orders. She drew in breath and forced herself to speak, "Hi, Steve."

"And you're..."

_"Your worst enemy. The one who you refused to kneel to. The one who unleashed an alien invasion. The one who destroyed half of your city and an entire S.H.I.E.L.D. complex. The one who forced your teammate to commit murder. The one who's body left a distinct impression in the floor of the home of the man who wore the metal suit."_

She pointed to her name tag. "Onheil." She had to admit, it wasn't her most creative cover. She'd literally called herself 'Mischief.' But it had been the first thing that had popped into her head when she was filling out the many documents required of her in order to obtain work and shelter.

The Captain--Steve--was still holding her hand. She didn't remove her own, unsure how to act, thinking it might make him suspicious. "Angel?"

She shook her head.  _"No, Captain, far from that."_  She repeated herself, more slowly. He attempted to say the word again. He was closer, but still wasn't saying it right. His brow was coming together in a wrinkle at the center. He looked so  _innocent._ She knew he wasn't. He'd battled. He'd killed. He'd strategized and taken out targets. She laughed at her own thought and smiled. He was more like her than he'd ever want to know. "Close enough."

Their hands were still clasped over the table. The steam from his coffee was warm on her skin and making his feel even hotter against her. She narrowed her eyes at him. What was his game? "Do I know you?"

The Captain took his hand back. "I think so." This was it. Now he was going to inform her that everyone in the shop was actually a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and that the Warriors Three were waiting outside to muzzle and shackle her. The other server called her name again. At least that would buy her a few moments. She went and retrieved the tray full of drinks and brought it over to the table it belonged to, making sure each drink was placed in front of it's owner, drawing out the time between the Captain's words and her return to his table. She could barely hear the noise of the shop over her heartbeat pounding in her ears. "You were saying?"

Loki's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline as the Captain began to describe the night she first arrived in New York, after fighting for so many long hours to stay alive and stay hidden. She gulped hard.

"I just wanted to help you. People don't do that for each other enough anymore." Loki nodded, afraid to speak. "There wasn't really anyone waiting for you inside Time Warner, was there?" She shook her head. He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to give some kind of verbal answer. She didn't fully trust herself to speak. His gaze held hers. He wasn't giving up. She couldn't decide if she was being interrogated or not.

"No. There was no one. I..." She turned her head toward the counter, hoping there would be another order she could deliver. "I'd just gotten into town. I was having a bad day." That was an understatement. "I was rude. I'm sorry." She was sorry. If she hadn't knocked his umbrella out of his hands then she wouldn't be in this mess right now.

Steve smiled softly. "Don't be sorry." He picked up his mug and took a long sip. He seemed to be savoring the liquid before swallowing it down. The action drew attention to his mouth. She found herself trying to memorize the curve of his lips. They were dramatic and pouty. She forced the comparison to Fandral that came to mind out of her head. He raised an eyebrow as if he realized she was studying him. "Everyone is entitled to a bad day."

Loki nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She gasped loudly. "As adorable as this little exchange has been, you have work to do, Onheil." Embarrassed heat washed down Loki's spine when she realized it was just the manager of the shop. So, no muzzle and shackles after all. She apologized and started to move away. The Captain was trying to cover a chuckle with another sip of coffee. The crinkles at the edges of his eyes gave him away.

"Have a nice day, Steve." She slipped out from the manager's hand and turned toward the back room to go back to filling sugar dispensers. She stopped for a moment and looked over her shoulder. "And thank you for the umbrella." Steve smiled and nodded and said she was welcome. The manager engaged him in conversation as she walked away.

Loki focused her attention on finishing the task that she'd started before the Captain had entered the shop. She couldn't get her hands to stop shaking. There was sugar all over the counter by the time she was finished. She couldn't decide whether it was nervousness or relief. When all of the dispensers were full, she cleaned up her mess, making sure the counter was meticulously clean, trying to buy herself more time. When she finished, she took the tray loaded with filled dispensers and went back out into the shop to replace them on the tables that were missing them. She glanced toward the corner. The Captain was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this will be the last chapter I post today or not. But I have to apologize in advance for the fact that updates will most likely be very slow during the week. I do have to earn a living at some point :)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Poor Loki was going to have a heart attack there!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments! I hope you're all enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
> 
> Let me know if you'd like a Loki chapter or a Steve chapter next. I can't decide!


	11. Stalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki live their lives. Steve isn't satisfied.

On Monday, Loki went to work at the library. She could loose herself in the rows and rows of books and the musty smell that reminded her of the archives at home. She could forget her interaction with the Captain. Forget the feeling that she was being watched now instead of doing the watching.

Loki amused herself with small bits of magic to pass the time that seemed to be moving incredibly slowly. A teenager sitting in the reference room with his music turned up far too loudly suddenly found his battery depleted. One child picking on a smaller one found herself passing gas rather loudly and being pointed and giggled at. A man dog-earring a page got a particularly nasty paper-cut. A crying infant suddenly had no voice--it returned full-force as the concerned mother rushed out the door.

At the end of the day, Loki took the A to the 4. She got off the train at the Brooklyn Museum and walked home. The Captain's lights were on. She moved swiftly up the block to her own building. When she closed and locked her door she let out the breath she'd been holding since she noticed the lights.

***

Steve left the shop shortly after Onheil had gone back to work and he'd thanked the manager a few dozen times for sending over the pound of coffee. "I had an entire pot between lunch and bed. I don't know how I slept." They'd laughed and parted ways.

Steve stopped at home to shower and change and then headed back out into the world. "See, Fury, I'm living in it." He stopped at the pharmacy where his new prescriptions were already waiting for him.

_DR. S COOPER_

_STEVEN ROGERS_

_SERTRALINE 50MG_

_ZOLOFT_

At least it was a starting point. That's what Dr. Cooper had said, wasn't it? Steve decided to skip the market and head straight for the art supply store. He could order in. He headed to bed after spending hours sketching in a fresh book, the lingering scent of Chinese take-out in the air. He finally declared the piece done when he'd mixed the perfect, multifaceted green in colored pencils.

Once again, Steve slept soundly.

He was up just a few moments before his alarm rang at 5 AM. He was uncomfortable, almost painfully so. He frowned and rubbed sleep from his eyes and kicked the comforters off of his body.

"Well then. That hasn't happened in a while." His run could wait.

Steve inhaled deeply and slowly as he ran his hands down over his chest and stomach and he pushed his pajama bottoms down over his hips. He closed his eyes and sucked his bottom lip inward as he touched himself, savoring the feeling. It wasn't as if he needed one of those medications he saw advertised on television during sports broadcasts. It had just...been a while.

Steve could feel his heart rate kick up, sweat break out on his skin. He tried to focus on a rhythm. His cock was screaming at him to go to town but his head said to slow down. He tried to call up an image, something to help.

Lana Turner in her furs. Ingrid Bergman clinging to a tree in the sand and looking at him with those far away eyes. Lauren Bacall with her dark hair and smoldering over-the-shoulder glances.

_Dark hair._

_Dark hair and glittering green eyes._

_Like emeralds. Like new grass. Like fresh mint leaves. Like fireworks._

_Pale, perfect skin._

_Cool, pale, perfect skin and rosy pink lips._

_Bee-stung bottom lip and a cupids's bow. Smiling. Tongue moving over them._

_Tongue moving over him._

_Hair rolled up to show off the neck._

_Hair braided with pieces playing in the wind._

_Delicate hands with surprising strength._

_Delicate hands with surprising strength touching him. Stroking him._

_A cream-colored blouse and painted on blue jeans._

_Painted on blue jeans walking gracefully away._

_Those damned boots._

He laid there. Breathing heavily. Hands and stomach sticky. Pupils dilated. Skin slick with sweat. Heart pounding.

Steve glanced at the clock. No run today. That was enough of a workout.

He made his way to the coffee shop down the block as he did usually. The manager was the only one there, they'd only been open a short while and they didn't get much business that early. The manager studied him as he looked toward the store room. "Onheil's not here."

Steve wrenched his eyes away from the room feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner. "I wasn't..."

"She doesn't work on Mondays. I think she has another job. A book store? Someplace in Midtown." Steve nodded. Good to know.

He asked the manager if he knew anything about the woman. He'd only met her once before, she'd seemed distressed. "Not much. She worked at a bar before this. Didn't like it, too many drunks. What she was expecting from a bar, I don't know." Steve asked if she was from around here. The pot was filling with his choice roast agonizingly slowly. "No, someplace out west. She just moved here. Couple of months, maybe. Said something about a death in the family. Doesn't really talk much about herself. Likes asking questions more. I think she knows my whole life story by now." Steve nodded and exchanged cash for coffee.

***

On Tuesday, Loki started her morning at the library and ended her evening at the coffee shop. The manager caught her as she was punching her card. "I'm sorry, I know I'm late. I was coming from Midtown, the train was delayed." He shook his head and told her it was fine. He indicated the counter top while she chucked her backpack into the corner. "Secret admirer dropped that off for you this morning."

Loki furrowed her brow and followed to where his finger was pointing. There was a smallish gift bag on the counter. She picked it up and dug inside. It was a collapsible umbrella. Black with green dots. She couldn't help but smile.

***

Steve kept hoping he'd see Onheil in the coffee shop. He scoured the book stores he knew in Midtown with no luck. He'd even browsed the Strand shops at Central Park hoping to find her.

"You're being obsessive, Cap." Natasha shook her head at him. "I wish you'd let me do some digging." They'd both searched for the woman on the internet with no results. Even with no last name, the first seemed unique enough to at least turn up a Facebook page or a LinkedIn profile. Nothing. All they'd discovered was that her name was actually a Dutch word. Mischief.

Natasha had frowned at that. Truly frowned. Not just her usual resting-scowl. "Are you sure this is even her real name?" Steve had dismissed the thought. Onheil was elusive and mysterious, but he didn't think she was lying about her name.

***

Weeks turned into a month.

Steve's therapy was going well. Dr. Cooper was still experimenting with dosages but Steve hadn't had another major, crippling episode since the last one. There were smaller ones, but he found them slightly easier to work through each time.

He immersed himself in his work at S.H.I.E.L.D. and began consulting on missions against Hydra cells that had started popping up. He went exploring. He refused to admit that he was exploring in the hopes that he'd stumble across Onheil. Tony had suggested that he simply hang around the coffee shop or ask the manager what her schedule was.

"I don't want to look like a stalker, Tony."

"No, I'm sure you're just content to act like one."

Steve had signed up for a sculpting class. It passed the time. It was distracting. It was something to do with his hands other than destroying hanging bags. It was a positive channel for his nervous energy and was helping to keep him from spiraling into another crippling episode. The other people in the class were young and artistic and hopeful. They still saw the world as a place with possibilities, a place in which an artist could succeed equally as well as a business man. 

Sometimes the things they said made him think of Tony. The better he allowed himself to get to know the man, the more multi-faceted he seemed. Yes, he was most definitely an ass. But he was also an optimist. He was a scientist and an inventor and a perfectionist with a flair for the dramatic. The things he designed and built were sleek and balanced and more than what they looked like at the surface. Tony was an ass, but he was also an artist.

Steve enjoyed the people in his class. They complimented his work and asked him questions about himself. It was clear from the start that most of them knew exactly who he was. They were never rude and didn't pry too deeply when he made it clear that he didn't want to or couldn't answer a question. They let him be himself and be with them. Eventually, Steve realized he'd made friends.

One evening, as the class was ending, the group asked him to come out with them the following evening. "We're going to Tonic. It's pretty good. Strong drinks...although, you wouldn't really care about that, would you?" Steve laughed and shook his head as he washed clay off of his hands. "Well, you should come." Steve nodded and agreed. "Awesome. I'll text you the address. Eight-ish?" Steve agreed once more. 

"Can you bring the one who shoots the arrows?" The girl asking him blushed hard. Steve informed her that Hawkeye was out of the country. "And I'm pretty sure he's involved with someone." The girl stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "No matter! You'll just have to be the life of the party." Sometimes it surprised Steve when he realized how much younger the people who were supposed to be his own age were. Sure, he'd spent decades on ice. But even if he hadn't, people from his time grew up so much faster. He was glad that young people now got to be young, for the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. A little smut, finally. Although, I'm sure it doesn't live up to the "explicit" rating that I've chosen.
> 
> It looks like Loki was right in the comments on the last chapter. Steve's hobbies really don't go much farther than art and stalking and checking out Loki's ass.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the split between the perspectives, although, I do admit, it was pretty Steve-centric. Loki wasn't doing much of anything interesting that you've missed. Just causing harmless mischief similar to the beginning of the chapter whenever he could.
> 
> There may be one more chapter tonight. As always, thank you for reading!


	12. Tonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes out with his new friends. He doesn't go home alone.

Steve arrived at the bar on 3rd and 29th shortly after eight o' clock. There was a light mist falling. It was refreshing.

Tony had insisted on being allowed to dress Steve when he'd heard the sometimes misanthrope was actually spending the night out with other living, breathing people. "None of this pseudo-vintage stuff, Capsicle. You're gonna be suave." Tony nodded and smiled enthusiastically when Steve came out of the dressing room at Hugo Boss. Pepper grinned and passed the hangers of clothing she'd been holding to the slightly snooty young man who had been helping them. Steve checked himself out in the mirror. He looked like himself, but... _not._ Dark colored, fitted jeans. Uncomfortable shoes that reminded him of what he wore with his Army dress uniform. A pale blue dress shirt and a dark grey waistcoat. He had to admit that the shirt did make his eyes look bluer in comparison. Pepper chewed the inside of her cheek. Tony looked like he was enjoying this far too much. "Don't look so uncomfortable, Spangles. You look almost as good as me." Pepper rolled her eyes and helped Steve into a tailored leather motorcycle jacket. "Don't listen to him," she whispered too loudly, "you clean up twice as well as he does." Tony looked wounded for a moment before he grinned and held up a credit card between two fingers.

So there he was, walking into the bar. He wasn't sure if he was regretting this decision or not. He was relieved when his friends from sculpting class immediately spotted him and waved him over toward their table. Clearly a few of them were already well lubricated judging by the exaggerated hoots and requests to "give us a turn" when he approached and sat down. The conversation was light and entertaining. The group was diverse in their interests. They all moved easily from art to sports to literature and back again. Steve was just happy that he was able to keep up most of the time. Eventually, the area they were sitting in got too loud and they found that they were shouting at each other. Someone suggested that they move upstairs. "The place has got three floors and a deck outside, there has to be a quieter spot somewhere!" 

Steve excused himself to check his jacket. It was getting hot with the increase of bodies in the room. He handed the jacket across the counter and received a plastic token as a ticket in return. When he looked at the coat room attendant, something over her shoulder caught his eye.

Hanging on the the coat rack, just about to rotate out of sight, was a small black umbrella with green dots. "Hey!" The girl stopped what she was doing and looked at him, startled and confused. "Sorry. Um. That umbrella. Do you know who came in with it?" The girl eyed him for a long moment as if deciding if she was going to give him any information or not. Steve was glad when she did. "Girl, dark hair. 'Lot of skin," she gestured by sweeping her hand across her chest and shoulders, "Ugly boots."

Steve's stomach fluttered. "Onheil," he breathed. The girl looked confused again, "Bless you?" Steve shook his head, coming back to reality. "No, I didn't...thanks. Thank you."

Steve went back to the group waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. His mind was racing. Should he look for her? Would it be rude to leave the group? If he saw her... If he saw her, should he invite her over to their table? What if she was with her own friends? Did she have any friends? What if she was with a man? _"Steeeeevee?"_ He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name as he followed the group to find a quieter spot on the second floor. _"Steve!"_ His head whipped around and he realized he'd walked completely away from the group who had stopped at a booth. He smiled awkwardly and ran his fingers through his hair, "Sorry. Got distracted." He took a seat at the edge of the group and tried his hardest to immerse himself back into their conversation, but it wasn't working.

"Guys, I'm sorry, I gotta go get some air." The group happily obliged him and turned back to their drinks and conversation as he walked toward the door to the deck outside. The mist had mostly stopped and the cool air was comforting after the stuffiness of the bar. He leaned against the railing and looked out at the cars moving up and down Third Avenue below him.

"You're awful!" Steve's ears perked up as he heard a familiar laugh. He gulped and turned toward the opposite corner of the balcony. Her back was to him. Her black hair was loose around her bare shoulders. Her clothes accentuated her figure. There were those perfectly painted on jeans. As ever, the disappeared into those damned boots. Steve smiled. He was starting to appreciate the consistency.

"Hey!" His smile faded when he looked up. There was a man with her. He was waving at Steve, gesturing to him as if he should come over. "Is there a reason you're staring at my lady, here?" Steve shook his head, said he wasn't. The man was clearly in at least the beginning stages of drunkenness. She turned then after placing the drink in her hand on the small, circular table she was standing beside.

She smiled. Openly. Broadly. Her teeth were bright white and even. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, but was beautiful nonetheless. "Steve!" She reached out and touched his shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here!" Steve nodded, his attention totally on her as the man she was with turned back toward the table for a moment, his own drink back in his hand and a scowl on his face when he looked to Steve once more. Onheil's hand left his shoulder and went into her pocket. Steve took in all that he could, trying to memorize each soft curl and the way they kissed her pale shoulders. "Are we going to have a problem here?" The man she was with spoke again. Steve shook his head, "No." He turned his attention to Onheil once more. "You got the umbrella?" She smiled and nodded and thanked him. She liked his choice of colors. "Green is a great color," he agreed, looking directly at her. She blushed. The man was clearly getting agitated. Steve didn't want a fight. If she was here with someone, then at least he knew where he stood. "I'm here with friends. Inside. Just came out for some air." She raised a brow at him and picked her drink back up. "I should get back in. See you around the neighborhood?" Onheil nodded around the straw between her rosy lips.

Steve went back inside and sat back with the group from his art class. Evidently he looked dejected, "Did you just get shot down?" He just chuckled. Not exactly. Just someone he knew from his neighborhood out on the deck. Another hour passed. It was getting late, he was tired, and he still had to get back to Brooklyn. He didn't want to sleep through Mass in the morning if he could help it, but he would never tell this group that.

As he rose from his spot in the booth the door to the outside deck opened. "I said _no._ " Onheil. She waved the man she was with off. He didn't look pleased as he made to put his hands on her waist and she twisted away. She didn't look completely sober, but she still was managing to retain some grace. _"No."_ Steve took a step toward the two. The man put up his hands and stalked away. He knew when he was loosing a fight.

Onheil watched him walk away for a moment, annoyance settling over her features. She made a move toward the stairs and stumbled, put her hand to her forehead and swayed on her feet. Steve was by her side in a moment. The only other sober gentleman in his group followed from the booth. "Onheil, are you okay?" She shook her head and swayed again. Steve put his arm around her shoulders. His friend helped Steve guide her down the stairs and steered them toward the door.

"Wait," Steve fished his coat check ticket out of his pocket and handed it to his friend. He leaned down to try to look directly at Onheil. "Do you have a ticket?" She nodded and fumbled in her pockets, not quite getting her hand inside before finally retrieving the plastic token and holding it up. Steve's friend took it and looked at him questioningly. "Friend from the neighborhood." He nodded in understanding and retrieved their things before helping Onheil into her jacket and both her and Steve out the door. He waited with them while Steve hailed a cab and helped the intoxicated woman into the back before closing the door. "Thanks." Steve shook his hand and ducked around the other side of the cab before getting in himself.

Steve tried to keep Onheil propped upright while he told the driver where to take him. The driver huffed in annoyance but didn't kick them out of the cab, much to Steve's relief. They arrived outside of Steve's apartment building around 1 AM. He paid the driver and tried to slip out from beneath Onheil, who was resting against his shoulder, as gently as he could. They got as far as the front stoop.

Onheil gripped the railing tightly. "Move, foot." Her voice was quiet and slurred. Steve waited patiently for a moment. He decided he could wait no longer when the mist that had begun once more turned to rain in earnest.

He turned her to face him and dipped his shoulder level with her waist, putting his arm around her. "Up you go." She groaned in displeasure but didn't fight him. Her boots banged against his knees and her fingers gripped his back pockets a little bit tighter with each landing he passed until he was at his door on the second floor. Onheil was murmuring something about being captured and begging to be set back down on her feet. "Just a minute." Steve opened the door with some effort and crossed the living room to the couch where he deposited the woman over his shoulder onto the couch as gently as he could.

Onheil shrunk into herself and weakly put her arms up to cover her face. He couldn't tell what she was saying anymore in that position. After a long moment, she dropped her arms as if resigned to fate. Steve just stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. "I don't want to go home." She choked down a soft sob. Steve leaned down and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "You don't have to." She looked up at him tearfully and asked him if he was telling the truth. He was. "Good."

Steve knelt down and started to unlace Onheil's boots. "You're kneeling." He looked up at her and smiled as he slipped the first shoe off her foot and placed both gently on the floor. Steve suppressed a chuckle when he saw her socks. Small, glittery spiders danced over her feet. "Just hanging around" graced the soles. He repeated it with the second. Onheil stifled a laugh before her face took on a look of sheer panic. She covered her mouth with her hand.

"Are you gonna...?" She nodded. With steadiness she hadn't had before, she allowed Steve to help her to race toward the bathroom.

They passed an hour that way. Steve sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding Onheil's hair away from her face and stroking her back. Onheil sobbing and throwing up. When she finally felt as though the entire contents of her stomach were no longer in her stomach, she stood up shakily.

"I'm so sorry. I...I'll walk home. I'm sorry." Steve shook his head. No, she could spend the night here. It would make him feel better to know she was safe. Onheil smiled sadly but accepted the charity on the condition that he stop arguing with her and allow her to sleep on the couch. There was no need for him to give up his bed. Steve insisted that she at least allow him to give her something to sleep in. He wasn't sure any of his clothes would actually fit her, but some sweats and a tee shirt would certainly be more comfortable than the clothes she was wearing. Onheil agreed.

He'd intended to bring the clothes back to her in the bathroom but when he turned she was behind him, still swaying slightly. She turned around and lifted her hair off the back of her neck. Steve gulped hard. It was dark, but he could see the silver zipper running down the back of her blouse in the moonlight filtering in through the window. She stood there like that, waiting, unmoving. Steve finally grasped the zipper pull with trembling fingers and eased it open. She sighed as the blouse opened. Steve could see the light indent from the top of the strapless piece around her back. Onheil put her arms down and crossed them as she gripped the bottom of the blouse. She turned to face him as she pulled the airy fabric up over her head and dropped it to the floor.

Steve couldn't stop his eyes from going wide. She was as perfect in person as she was in his imagination. All he wanted to do was touch her. Put his hands on her. Put his mouth on her. The moonlight created shadows across her creamy, bare chest. He gulped again and tried to force his eyes away. He picked up the tee shirt he'd taken out for her and held it out. She slipped it on. He wasn't sure if she knew exactly what she was doing or not. She was so _purposeful._

Onheil's hands moved to her waist. Her fingers fumbled for a moment before she succeeded in opening the fly on those impeccably fit jeans. She tried to shimmy out of them and wound up sitting down hard on the end of Steve's bed. She pushed them down over her hips and straightened her legs, pointing her toes. Steve took the unspoken cue. He knelt again in front of her and peeled the jeans off of her legs, reveling in the closeness of her, the marks on her skin from the seams, the coolness of her. When her legs were free of the jeans she stood again and held out her hand for the sweatpants. She put them on and cinched them closed with the drawstring before allowing herself to be led back out to the couch. She sat with her head in her hands while Steve found a pillow and a blanket for her. She wearily thanked him as she laid her head down and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder. Steve told her she was welcome, as if she hadn't just been naked from the waist up in front of him.

He checked the lock on the door and went back toward his bedroom. He couldn't help but replay what had just happened there in his head. He picked up her clothing from the floor, still warm from her body, and folded it carefully. When he went back into the living room to place the folded clothes on the coffee table, Onheil was asleep. Her breathing was even and deep. Just the top of her head was visible beneath the blanket.

Steve shook his head as he walked back into his room and shut the door before changing himself. The last thought he remembered before sleep claimed him was that this couldn't be real life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! Last chapter for the weekend. I shall answer whatever comments are left on the previous chapter and then I'm hitting the hay! Steve and Loki will just have to be understanding.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I know Steve did.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	13. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki try to figure out what happened last night.

Loki was back in Germany. He had just gouged out a man's eye in order to gain access to a secure area. He walked casually out of the door of the building he was in and started down the stairs. His suit and coat became his Asgardian robes. He could feel the weight of his helmet settling on his head. The sound of his boots hitting the ground as he strode was satisfying and solid. 

Loki knew he was dreaming. He knew this for two reasons. First, because he was a man. Second, because the great Captain was kneeling at the foot of the stairs.

The Captain looked up at him with is glittering, ice-blue eyes from behind the mask that covered half of his face. His pouty lips pulled outward into a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. "You're kneeling." Loki stopped, close enough to tower over the form of the mighty Avenger but far enough away to be able to hold his gaze. The Captain's lips parted, his tongue glided over the bottom of the pair, "I think I know you."

The rush of power was electric. Intoxicating. _Arousing._ Loki became vaguely aware of a pounding in his head. It was like Mjolnir was attempting to break free of the inside of his scull. His helmet seemed to be vibrating with the force of the pounding, which only made the pain worse. Loki crumpled to one knee and ripped the golden-horned thing causing him so much displeasure off of his head. The pain did not subside. He felt pressure on his shoulders and looked up into the Captain's eyes, full of concern. Red-gloved hands were on his shoulders, steadying him. "Onheil?" Loki screwed his eyes shut. He let go of the scepter in his hand and placed both against the gleaming white star at the center of the Captain's chest. "No," he barked as he pushed off. The motion knocked the Captain away and helped him to rise once again.

Reality came crashing in as Loki opened her eyes. The room was too bright. The scent of coffee was making her stomach churn. Her mouth tasted sour. Her throat burned. Her head was pounding even harder than it was in her dream if that was at all physically possible.

She glanced around herself, utterly confused. "Where the _fuck_ am I?"

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Loki sat upright and whipped her head around toward the source of the sound. Too fast. She had an inkling that she might faint. Her eyes felt heavy and she swayed in her seated position. She could feel her body dip forward.

"No, you don't," the Captain was suddenly kneeling in front of her. His eyes were full of concern. His hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. "Onheil?" Loki blinked rapidly, trying to regain some sense of balance. The Captain just kept looking at her, waiting for what she didn't know. It was too much. She placed her hands against his chest. There wasn't a gleaming white star. There was a plain tee shirt, "ARMY" in bold, black letters across it. He felt warm beneath her palms. She could just barely feel his heartbeat, the steady rhythm keeping time with the throbbing in her head.

It was just _too_ much. Her vision became blurry. Salty tears burned her eyes even more than the bright sunlight from the open window. The Captain shifted to put his arms around her. She pressed her forehead into the crook of his neck and sobbed. "I'm so sorry." She dragged breath into her lungs. "I don't want to go back." She exhaled shakily, trying not to cough on the man holding her. "Please don't make me go back. They don't _understand_."

***

Steve dragged his body out of bed at his usual early hour. It wasn't hard. He hadn't slept much. Onheil had woken again sometime around 4:30 for another round of vomiting. He was starting to think that he should call an ambulance. He was sure she was just drunk. Right? Wasn't that what happened when someone got truly lost in a bottle? The unsteadiness and the nausea and the incoherent babbling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten drunk anymore. But that was what happened when he sat watching the shameless people on reality TV. It couldn't have been anything more than that.

He'd checked in on his over-night guest before he'd slipped into the shower. She was dead asleep, an odd, satisfied sort of expression on her face. Somewhere between the last time he'd left her on the couch and this time, she'd kicked the blanket off of her body. He looked at her for a moment; trying to figure out what was going on in her head to give her such an expression. She was turned halfway onto her side and clutching the edge of the couch cushion as if for dear life. His shirt skimmed against her skin. It looked comically over-sized on her. It looked perfect on her. His shirt on her with nothing between it and her smooth, cool skin. With the position she put herself in, her hip was exposed. It was the most perfect curve of flesh and bone that he could conceive of.

He shook his head. "What the hell is the matter with you, Rogers? She's not well." Admiring her felt wrong, dirty. Especially so with the circumstances he found her in his home under. He marched himself into the bathroom and took the coldest shower he could tolerate.

He'd emerged from the shower with a towel around his waist and went to start a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Coffee was good for sobering people up, right? He thought it might be a comforting smell to wake to anyway, it was the dark roast from the shop. He'd made a habit of going in at odd times and buying a pound here and there, hoping to catch Onheil while she was serving. He'd stopped when Clint had pointed out how creepy the behavior was.

He made his way quietly through the living room and back into his bedroom. A side glance told him she was still asleep, her knees now drawn toward her core. Her chin was tilted down toward her chest. She looked troubled, but he didn't want to wake her. Honestly, he was afraid she'd start throwing up again if he did.

Steve went into his bedroom and stopped short at the end of his bed. Something flat was stuck to his bare foot. He bent down to retrieve it. It was a non-driver ID card issued to Onheil Ferguson. A quick calculation of the date of birth listed said that she was only a year or so older than he. Well, than he was if you subtracted the decades in the ice. The address it listed was only just a short walk from his building. A shiver ran down his spine. She'd been that close all this time? There was a thin fold of bills on the floor as well. They must have fallen out of her pocket when she was undressing.

Steve picked up the bills and placed them and the ID onto his dresser. He focused on getting dressed. He focused on toweling the moisture out of his hair. He focused on slipping his watch around his wrist and putting the peg in the buckle through the right hole. He focused on anything but the memory of Onheil undressing, treating him like a servant. Teasing him. Had she been teasing him? Had she realized what she was doing? She'd seemed to be completely in control in that moment, if not for the sway in her stance and the way she'd shimmied herself into sitting down clumsily on his bed. He looked at himself hard in the mirror. "Get a hold of yourself."

He'd slipped Onheil's cash and ID into the back pocket of her pants that were still folded and waiting for her on the table when he emerged from his room again. She was still asleep, thankfully. He didn't want her to think he was stalking her _and_ robbing her. He hovered near the kitchen door, sipping his coffee, waiting for her to wake.

"Where the fuck am I?" Steve frowned. Maybe it was the pre-war, old-fashioned mentality he had, but he didn't like it when women cursed. It just wasn't ladylike.

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" It sounded more accusatory than he'd intended it to. Onheil sat up and turned toward him. What little color was in her face completely drained from it. He ditched his coffee and crossed the room in a few wide strides and caught her by the shoulders before her head hit the table in front of the couch. He put a knee on the ground and looked at her face. "No, you don't." The last thing he needed was to try to explain how a very intoxicated woman, whom he hardly knew but was known to be obsessing over, came to be in his apartment with a split open forehead. As naive as he was at times, even he knew how bad that would look.

"Onheil?" She was blinking, her eyes unfocused. She placed her hands on his chest as if for balance. He swallowed hard, he felt like she was trying to push him away. He so didn't want her to think that he was trying to take advantage. Tears began rolling down her cheeks. He was happy when some color returned to her face, even if it was from the effort of crying.

Steve shifted to put his arms around her awkwardly and she buried her face in his neck. Her tears were hot and wet. They slipped against his skin and soaked into his tee shirt. She was breathing heavily and babbling about not wanting to be sent back someplace. He was confused. She'd said something about not wanting to go home and had gotten teary eyed the night before as well.

Steve petted her back gently, "Onheil." He moved his hands back to her shoulders and peeled her away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about...but I promise you, I'm not going to send you anywhere you don't want to go." She asked him if he really promised. He did. He was sure.

***

The Captain was sitting on the table in front of the couch she was on. He reached over and arranged a blanket around her shoulders, as if trying to shield her from whatever it was she found that she could not explain to him. "Onheil, how much did you have to drink last night?" He'd offered her a cup of coffee, but she'd declined. He brought a cool glass of water instead and pressed it into her hands. She took a sip and suddenly felt as though she could drink an ocean and not have her thirst be quenched. She drained the glass before answering. "Not much. I had one at the club. Another at the bar." She let him take the glass from her. "Neither was very strong. Mostly soda."

The Captain studied her for a moment. "Did you know..." He hesitated. She wasn't sure what he was trying to ask. "Were you..." He glanced to the side. The tips of his ears turned pink. "Was that guy a friend?" She was confused. She couldn't remember who he was talking about for a moment.

Loki had gone out dancing. Her fellow coffee-server, Matthew, had insisted that she come out yesterday evening after they'd closed the shop for the night. "You have no life! You work and you go home."

"That's not true." She'd crossed her arms. "I...I go to Central Park to read." She looked toward the ceiling. "And I listen to music. Vinyl. I go to Permanent Records. On Franklin." Matthew shook his head at her.

"You have no life with other people. No social life." Loki'd had to concede to that. Other than keeping an eye on the Avengers to make sure that they weren't yet on to her, she really wasn't living the life of a typical young Midgardian woman in an urban setting.

And so out she'd gone. Matthew had introduced her to his friends. They all seemed to be studying the same thing, had similar career aspirations. She'd tried to say as little about herself as possible. She moved to the city recently from Arizona. There had been a death in the family and she needed a change of setting. No, her name wasn't "Angel" and she hadn't fallen from heaven. Purgatory, maybe, but certainly not heaven. She was relieved when they disembarked from the train and entered the club.

Loki found it easy to loose herself in the pulsing sounds and lights and bodies. As she swayed and bobbed to the rhythm of the house music she found that she could just _be_ in the mass of undulating bodies.

When she found she needed a break, she drifted toward the bar and listened to what the other young women around her were ordering. She slipped onto a stool as the tender slid a golden, fizzy beverage toward her. She took a sip. It was cool and bubbly and sweet but it burned as it made it's way down the back of her throat. Loki wondered for a moment if the taverns on Asgard had ever conceived of such a thing? A man slid into the space between her shoulder and that of the person on the stool beside her, "Whiskey-ginger?" Loki nodded. He held out his hand, she grasped it for a moment. "Kevin." She gave him the name she was using. It was easier now. It almost felt as natural as her own.

She'd chatted and laughed and readily agreed when he suggested traveling over the bridge to Kip's Bay to a bar on Third Avenue. She bid the group she'd come with a good evening and left with Kevin.

Loki had allowed him to order her another drink when they arrived at the bar. She'd checked her jacket and umbrella and followed him readily up the stairs and out onto the outdoor deck on the second floor. Steve had been there. His presence made her uneasy. She couldn't be sure if she'd been followed or it was simply a coincidence. He had about as much of a social life as she did. But for a city so large and full of so many people, it seemed ludicrously small, sometimes. Loki had placed her drink onto the table she was standing next to while she gave Steve her attention. After he'd left, Kevin was more forward than he'd been before. It wasn't amusing anymore.

"No, thanks," she'd responded when he suggested going back to his apartment in Queens. He needled her about it. Put his hands on her arms. On her hands. On her waist. He'd bought her a drink and this was the thanks he got? He'd seized her belt loops and pulled her close against him, tried to press his lips to her's.

Loki had put her hand up between their faces just in time. She didn't feel right. She hadn't felt quite right for the past few minutes. She chalked it up to being uncomfortable with the company and the setting. She wrenched her body away from him and opened the door to go back inside. The light mist that had been falling was making her skin clammy. "I said, _no_." She waved him off like a too-attentive servant. He made a grab for her waist again and she twisted away. " _No._ " She moved toward the stairs. Everything else was hazy.

***

Clarity came over Steve like a jolt. He remembered something Tony had said, jokingly, when they'd arrived back at Stark Tower after he and Pepper had finished using Steve as a living paper-doll. "Now, Spangles, keep an eye on your drink and don't talk to strangers. We don't need any headlines about you." He'd put his hands up in the air in front of him and spread them out, reading newsprint in the future. "America's Finest Roofied by Crazed Fan-Girls!" He'd laughed it off then, but now...

"Onheil, look at me." She told the story of her evening to his knees. "I think we need to take you to the hospital. Then the police." Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head. She looked pale again, but regained her composure quickly enough. "Onheil," he repeated softly. "I think that guy drugged you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be a new chapter tonight. Haven't decided yet.
> 
> I hope the chapter wasn't too disjointed. I wanted to tell both sides of the interaction without writing the entire thing twice. So, there you have it. Loki finally decides to live a little and get's punished for it. Steve continues to walk the fine line between adorable and creepy.
> 
> What will happen next?! Stay turned for the next installment of...PETRICHOR...dun DUN DUUUUN!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it!


	14. Getting it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning goes on. The Captain continues to play care-taker.

Loki shook her head again. "No." She didn't meant that the man she'd accompanied to the bar hadn't drugged her. She supposed that was possible, there was no way that two drinks had gotten her so intoxicated that she couldn't remember much of anything beyond trying to get away from him. "I'm not going to the hospital. And I'm not involving the authorities." No, that was not about to happen. When Thor had been in the the Midgardian infirmary, after Jane--that woman, that thief of brothers--had hit him with her vehicle, they'd known that he wasn't quite human. Going there meant being found out, or at least held for observation of some sort. Then she would for sure be discovered when she used her magic to escape. Going to the authorities would surely mean being captured. She wasn't sure how, but the idea of walking into a police station with the Captain felt akin to marching into S.H.I.E.L.D. and presenting herself to irritating man with the eye patch.

"Onheil, he tried to hurt you. He could have..." The Captain looked away from her. "You have to tell someone."

"No." She eased herself backward so that she was resting against the couch. "I'm not going. Did you not just promise me you wouldn't make me go anywhere I did not want to go?" The Captain acknowledged as much. "Then allow me to decide this for myself." The Captain sighed and stood.

"At least let me get you something to eat? You must be starving." Loki's stomach let out a perfectly timed growl in response. She watched the Captain move about in the kitchen. He cracked eggs. He put slices of dark colored bread into a toaster and when they popped up he scraped butter over them. He returned to her in a few moments and placed a plate with bright yellow clouds and dark toast in front of her. She took slow, deliberate bites, finding it difficult to swallow and wanting to gag. She didn't want to insult the Captain when he was showing her such hospitality, so she continued to force it down. He returned again with a plate of his own, placed a fresh glass of water beside her plate, and sat in the chair catty-corner to the couch. She could feel him watching her as he ate.

Loki kept her eyes on the food in front of her and focused on moving the fork from the plate to her mouth. She finished and allowed her eyes to sweep across the room, studying what little of the Captain's inner sanctum she could see from her seat. Her eyes fell onto a pile of neatly folded clothing on the table that she had not noticed until then. _Her_ neatly folded clothing. Her neatly folded clothing that _was not on her body_. Her eyes grew wide. She looked down at herself and the comfortable but unfamiliar garb. It looked like what the Captain wore during his morning runs. Why was she in the Captain's clothes? When did she put them on? _How_ did her own clothing come to be off her body and neatly folded on that table? "You know, I never thought one person could throw up that much. Tank must be totally empty. Are you still hungry? I can make--" Loki turned to the Captain and crossed her arms over her chest in embarrassment. "Why am I wearing your clothes?" There was accusation in her tone. "Did we--?"

The Captain's plate clattered loudly when he set it down on the table. "No." He spoke a little too quickly, a little too firmly. "No, we didn't." He blushed lightly. His eyes moved from her face to her arms crossed over her chest. He swallowed hard and looked back at her face again. "I helped you out of your shoes. You seemed pretty amused over me kneeling. I don't know what was so funny about it. Then you started with the throwing up." He gave her a deadpan look. "That wasn't quite amusing. A little scary, to be honest." She raised a brow at him. "I left you in the bathroom to get something for you to sleep in and you followed me." The brow dropped, her eyes narrowed. "You don't remember any of this?" She shook her head, afraid to speak. In her dreams the Captain had knelt. Reality was blurring at the edges and she didn't like it. "You kind of...stripped?"

Loki was shocked. She really must have been under the influence of something. "It was like I was a handmaid. You made me help undress you, pass you the shirt and pants." He blushed a little harder. "I swear I didn't look! I mean, I tried not to look. You were kind of...you know. Uninhibited?"

Loki covered her face with her hands for a moment. It wasn't actually shocking. She had servants on Asgard that assisted her in dressing and undressing whether she was a man or a woman, clad in armor or leather or a silk gown. She was royalty. She hadn't ever known anything else. She barked out a laugh, "I seem to have shown you _mine_...You'll have to show me _yours._ "

The Captain opened his mouth in surprise. His eyebrows rose high, his eyes went wide. "Calm down. I was only joking. You don't have to show me anything." He closed his mouth. "I hope you at least enjoyed the view. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I was not myself." She was exactly herself.

Loki sighed. Her mouth still tasted sour. He throat still burned. "I have an extra toothbrush if you want to use it. You could shower if you want." Loki asked the Captain if he was trying to get her naked again? He shook his head, she smiled to indicate jest. She could shower and brush her teeth at home but was thankful for the offer.

"Do you mind if I wear these home?" She plucked at the sleeve of the tee shirt she was wearing. It was fine. "I hate to sound ungrateful, but I really would just like to get home. It was exceedingly gallant of you to take care of me. I cannot thank you enough."

"It was nothing. You needed help. It's what I do."

"Yes. It certainly is."

He smiled sheepishly at her and pushed his fingers though his hair. She asked if she could impose upon him to use a comb. He led her to the bathroom and took one out for her, leaving her to her own devices.

Loki took her time trying to work the comb through the the tangled mess of her hair. It had gotten longer than it had been in a while. It had not been trimmed or cared for since she'd allowed herself to fall from the Bifrost. She tried to arrange her face into a mask, to hide her discomfort and vulnerability. She was a warrior. She was King--Queen--rightfully, of Asgard...at one time, at least. She was a master sorcerer. She was an esteemed scholar. She was a higher being. And she'd been bested by some Midgardian who meant nothing in the grand scheme of time and some mystery substance he'd presumably slipped into her drink. She thought hard, trying to figure out when he'd done it. The only time her glass had not been in her hand had been when the Captain approached. She'd placed it down on the table. She'd touched his shoulder, trying to ensure that he stayed at arm's length, at least. He'd looked at her and she'd felt so naked, so _exposed_. Funny that she wound up in just that condition later on. He'd studied her and it had felt as though he was caressing her like a lover with his wonderfully blue eyes.

Loki went back into the living room and slipped her feet into her boots, tying them loosely. "You know," the Captain said, "No one seems to like those boots." She looked up at him incredulously as she finished with the laces. "I don't think I've ever seen you not wearing them." He cocked his head to the side. "Are they the only shoes you own?"

Loki shook her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "I like my boots."

"I do too."

She wore her boots every day. They really were the only footwear she owned but she wasn't about to give the Captain any more information than she needed to. It was a necessity to wear different clothing every day, but it was not a necessity to wear different shoes. On Asgard, whenever a new pair was required, a drawing would be approved, a fitting done, and the shoes would appear seemingly by magic. Here, it was a chore. There were so many choices. Nothing fit right. The places to purchase new shoes were simply overwhelming. Loki couldn't bring herself to transform the boots by magic. They were the only thing left of her Asgardian clothing. Her robes remained under the glamour of a tee shirt and trench coat and dark jeans. There was a large tear in the shirt where the blade had entered her body. The boots stayed. They were non-descript enough to pass for Midgardian fashion. They grounded her. They reminded her where she had come from, what she had left behind. With each step she took in those boots, she was stepping on Thor. On Odin. On Volstagg and Fandral and Hogun and Sif. On Jane. On Frigga, for _leaving_ her. With every step, she ground her memories of them, both the good and the bad, her memories of home and happiness and hurt and betrayal, into the Midgardian earth.

The Captain smiled. He stood and helped her into her jacket, careful not to touch her. She picked her clothes up off the table. They smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. Her stomach turned at the scent. He passed her the umbrella he'd gifted her some time ago. "I'll walk you home. You live close by, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm cheating you all with this chapter. It's short, I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but I felt like I needed to post something because you're all so wonderful.
> 
> Wow. This thing is nearing 1000 hits. I still can't believe it's gotten so many. I truly hope you're all enjoying the story.
> 
> I'm off to bed. As ever, thank you for reading and for the great feedback.


	15. Go Ahead and Dig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gives the Captain something to think about. Steve let's his hurt get the better of him.

Onheil looked at him suspiciously, "You know where I live?" Steve explained that her ID must have fallen out of her pocket while she was undressing. She continued her suspicious look but accepted his answer after she transferred the contents of her pants pocket to her jacket's.

Steve couldn't help but admire the woman walking in front of him down the stairs and out of his building. Even slightly rumpled from sleep, in the odd combination of clothes and boots and smart leather jacket, she looked purposeful rather than haphazard. She squinted hard when they stepped out into the sunlight. Steve tried to keep her in his shadow to block the glare as they walked to her building in silence.

Onheil turned to him as they reached the stoop. "Thank you, again. I really don't know how I can repay you."

"By letting me take you to the hospital to get checked out, at least, even if you won't file a police report."

Her expression soured. "I said, no. It happened to me, not to you,  _Captain_." Steve felt like she'd shot an arrow through his heart. Never before had his title felt like such an insult on anyone's lips.

"So you know about me. Who I am." They weren't questions. He felt dejected. Steve had felt that Onheil existed solely in _his_ world, the world of Steve Rogers--even Captain Rogers--but  _the_ Captain, Captain America, he'd stolen her as well.

***

"Yes, I do. You're not that difficult to find out about. Nothing is sacred in a close neighborhood. Especially so, it seems, when you are a well-liked member of it...or a celebrity-hero."

Loki wasn't lying. She had asked around about the Captain. She'd found out tidbits of information here and there in the coffee shop, around the neighborhood, on the internet when she'd taught herself how to use it one day before her shift at the library in Hell's Kitchen. She'd consumed every but of information about the Captain she could find when she realized he'd taken an interest in her. 

"Stop encouraging him!" She'd said to the manager of the coffee shop one day after she had listened to an exchange between he and the Captain while she was in the safety of the store room. Steve was a good guy, he'd told her. She could do worse, he'd told her. Give him a chance, he'd told her. Loki couldn't find words to explain how dangerous those sentiments were.

"I understand it is your job to help people, Captain. But I don't want any more help. You don't get to make decisions for me or try to push me toward them."

***

"I'm truly grateful for you, for what you did for me." She started to walk up the stairs then turned back toward him. "But make no mistake; you may feel that it is your duty to save the damsel in distress or your fellow man or however you want to put it--but I never asked for your help; I never wanted it. I neither desire nor require it." She looked him up and down for a moment. Steve could feel little pieces of himself shattering, caving inward. "If you will kindly excuse me, my shift starts in an hour. You may live off of a fat government check, but I cannot afford to lose a day's pay." She paused. It was like she was nocking more arrows and firing them at him. Her aim was deadlier than Hawkeye's. How did she know just where the chinks in his armor are, just where to shoot? "I will have your clothing cleaned and returned to you as soon as possible." With that, she opened the door and let herself inside.

Steve walked briskly back to his own building. He refused to look at the couch, the pillow that still held the shape of her head and shoulders, the blanket folded and put over the arm. He grabbed his wallet and phone and went back outside. He walked to the Brooklyn Museum, boarded the 4 train, transferred to the A, and disembarked in Manhattan. His intent had been to go to Central Park where he could walk the familiar paths and clear his head and try to sort everything that had happened since he'd arrived at that god-forsaken bar on Third the evening before. Instead, he found himself in the elevator in the lobby of Stark Tower.

"Hello, Captain Rogers," the AI with the smooth voice said. "Mr. Stark was expecting you, but not until later in the day. I believe he mentioned something about wanting to hear the story of your evening out. Shall I bring you to the Avenger's Training Floor?" Steve looked at the ceiling, "Yes, JARVIS, thank you." The doors slid closed silently. "JARVIS? Would Natasha happen to be here?" The disembodied voice confirmed that she was at the shooting range. She was with Clint who had arrived home from his mission abroad in the wee hours of the morning.

"If it isn't our Boy Scout, all grown into a Man Scout!" Tony opened his arms wide when Steve stepped through the elevator doors. Steve just breezed past him, heading straight for the range.

"Onheil Ferguson." Natasha looked confused for a moment.

"No hello? What happened to range safety? You shouldn't sneak up on a woman with a gun like that, Cap."

Steve rattled off the rest of the information he'd read on Onheil's ID. "Do your digging. I don't care anymore."

Clint raised a brow. He knew Steve was mooning over some chick with the weird name, had gotten a little obsessive. He chalked it up to the fact that Steve presumably had no idea how to handle women. His only date had gotten cancelled due to extreme weather conditions. "What's going on?" Steve looked at him and then back at Natasha.

"Just do it. Go ahead and dig."

***

Loki wasn't sure how she made it through the day. She was trembling violently by the time she made it into her apartment and through the door. She'd practically ripped the Captain's clothes off of her body before getting into the hottest shower she could tolerate. She brushed her teeth until the paste was tinged with pink. She dragged a brush through her hair and whipped a braid into it with such force she was sure she'd given herself a bald spot. She pulled everything out of her closet and threw it on the floor. Everything disgusted her. She wanted nothing more than to slip into her Asgardian robes and storm back to the Captain's building and knock him around. How dare he? How dare he be so...so...

Loki picked up her boots and threw them out the door one after the other. They hit the wall in the opposite wall with enough force to dent. Her neighbor beat the wall on the other side in response.  _"Fuck off!"_  she shrieked with all of her might, her voice cracking and her throat becoming alive with searing pain once again.

Loki crumpled to the floor. "I don't need _him_." Her face was a mess of snot and spit and tears. "I don't need _anyone_."

When she'd regained her composure, she was already 20 minutes late for her shift. She pulled on a shirt and pants with little care as to what they looked like and shoved her feet into her boots. When she reached the coffee shop she took the chastisement from the manager in silence. She offered no excuse as to why she was late. She assured him it would not happen again. She went mechanically through the day and collapsed into bed at the end of it. Sleep claimed her immediately, sheer exhaustion being too much to allow her to remain awake.

***

Steve went into the coffee shop for his usual cup at his usual time on Sunday after Mass. He ordered and took a seat, focusing on nothing and everything. He needed to speak to Dr. Cooper. He should have called his therapist yesterday. He thought destroying a few hanging bags at the Tower and sleeping on it would alleviate the inordinate rage he felt. Footsteps approached his table. A mug clunked down.

Steve looked up into Onheil's face. She looked worse than yesterday if that was at all possible. What didn't he care? She didn't _want_ him. Didn't _need_ him. Didn't _desire_ him. Didn't _require_ him. She said nothing and walked away.

***

Loki had gone to the laundromat as soon as it had opened Sunday morning. She washed and dried her clothing and the Captain's. When she was finished, it went back into the duffle bag she'd brought it in and the whole thing came to work with her.

When she saw the Captain come in, she'd cringed. At least now she wouldn't have to go knock on his door. Matthew handed her his order, black-no-sugar, and she placed it in front of him. He said nothing. He looked angry, like a bowstring drawn tight and about to snap. She went into the store room and took his clothing out of her bag. He nearly slammed the mug he was drinking from down on the table when she placed the two neatly folded articles in front of him and began to walk away.

***

Steve used every bit of control in his body not to throw the mug in his hand down. He put it down hard, the hot liquid inside threatening to slosh over the sides. He looked at the shirt and pants Onheil placed on the table in front of him and swallowed the hurtful things he wanted to say. He put his hand down on top of them. They were warm like they'd come out of a drier not too long ago, the subtle smell of drier sheets clung to them.

Steve slid the clothes across the table to the far edge, away from him and back toward the woman he had wanted so badly to know. "Keep them." His voice sounded cold, sounded so unlike himself. Onheil shook her head once and walked away, went back to her serving duties. Steve forced himself to stay in his seat and finish his coffee. He wasn't enjoying it. It was suddenly unpleasant in its bitterness. He thought that if _he_ walked away that it would look worse than staying. When he finally did get up to leave, he left his clothes still sitting on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's that.
> 
> On a happier note, I'd like your opinion! I've been thinking of things that Steve and Loki could do together other than going at it like rabbits (eventually) and reading and drawing. I was discussing plans to go on a paintball outing with the friends that don't live in my head and Steve and Loki immediately latched onto the idea. Do you all think that would be something entertaining to read about? Should I involve the other Avengers? I had an idea for a humorous exchange between Clint and Loki (who is still Onheil if I work it into the story when I'm currently planning to).
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and commenting. I hope this chapter was more successful than the last. The story has 1027 hits according to my stats at the time I'm posting this chapter. I'm in total disbelief. Thank you so much. Thank you especially for the wonderfully sweet and insightful things you all say. I'm thrilled to death that people are understanding the Steve and Loki in my head the same way that I understand them.


	16. Reality Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a kick in the pants. Loki's world becomes just a little less dark.

Monday morning found Steve requesting an extended lunch during his workday at SHIELD so that he could make his way to Dr. Cooper's office. By then, Steve felt like every muscle in his body was clenched tight with the effort of not exploding.

"You seem tense."

"No, really?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Everything. Nothing."

"We'll start slowly then. How was Friday?"

The therapist knew he'd touched on the right issue. He'd urged Steve to try to socialize with people outside of his team. He had an inkling that it would not go smoothly at first.

"Friday was _fucking shit_. So was Saturday morning."

"Steve Rogers, I do believe you just cussed."

Steve rolled his eyes and let out an aggravated roar. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The receptionist poked her head into the office to ask if everything was quite alright, a nervous look on her face. Dr. Cooper assured her it was and waved her off.

"Tell me what happened."

"She was there. _She was there_. It was like kismet." Steve looked up. "She was there."

"We've established she was there, Steve. At the bar you were supposed to go to, I'm assuming." He didn't have to ask who Steve was talking about. Since that rainy night months in the past, she had come up in nearly every session. The therapist kept advising Steve that he was being obsessive, that he needed to back off, that he was verging into inappropriate territory. The patient refused to listen. The therapist'd had no choice but to notify the director of the Captain's concerning behavior. Fury had wanted to take Steve off of active duty, Cooper felt that would only make things worse. If Steve didn't have his work to focus on, then what else would he?

"She came home with me."

"Oh?"

"Not like that."

Steve told Dr. Cooper about the evening. "Certainly sounds like you did the right thing by her." Steve made and exasperated sound and stood. He started pacing. "So why was the evening and the morning 'fucking shit'?"

Steve reviewed the events of Saturday morning in excruciating detail. He went on to describe his exchange with Onheil in Sunday as well. He stopped before saying that's he'd given Natasha permission to delve into the woman's background. "I will fully admit that I was out of line on Sunday. I should have been more civil, she didn't do anything blatantly offensive. It was just the way she did it." The doctor's fingers were tented beneath his chin. He was looking at Steve with a concerned expression.

"Steve. Sit."

Steve sat.

"You are an _ass_."

Steve wasn't sure that he'd heard correctly.

"No. You didn't mishear me. You were a _royal ass_."

"How am I an ass? I helped her."

"Close your eyes."

"Yeah?"

"You've gone out with a group of people. You get picked up by a guy at a club. You've got no intention of doing anything with him, but he seems nice so you humor him."

Steve nodded.

"When you leave with this guy he takes you across the river to a bar. It's a nice place. It seems okay. You're still having a good time."

Steve sighed and asked if this was going anywhere.

"Shut up." The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. Did Steve really not see it? "When you get there, the man who has been actively pursuing you for quite some time, whom you've given _no_ indication of any genuine interest in beyond the fact that you live in the same neighborhood and he's a frequent customer at your place of work, is there."

Steve frowned but kept his eyes closed.

"He approaches you, _distracts_ you. Shortly after, you don't feel well. The man you arrived with is clearly trying to get in your pants. The man who has been pursuing you takes you home. You don't remember the night. You wake up in a strange apartment, on a strange couch, in clothes that aren't your own."

Steve's brow knitted together.

"You discover that you've most likely been drugged. You're not sure what it was. You were with a stranger and you wound up in who's apartment?"

"Mine."

"Someone who has been acting no better than a stalker."

Steve opened his eyes and glared at the doctor. "You're not helping."

"Are you _really_ that self-important that you don't see it?"

Steve scoffed at the man sitting across from him.

"Steve, I'm surprised she didn't call the police on _you_."

The soldier started pacing again. His face was blank. It was the stoic non-expression that he'd seen on Steve's face every time a news story broke about another terrorist attack, another large group of servicemen killed. It was the Captain's version of helplessness.

"Steve, I've been telling you for quite a while now. So has the team. We've all advised you to back off."

"So I brought in on myself."

"Yes."

Steve sat down hard. He looked like he was getting filled up. He blinked rapidly and fought back any visible expression of emotion. "I just wanted to know her."

"Because she reminded you of someone."

"Yes."

"But you don't know who. It was just a feeling."

"Yes."

"I think you were so focused on knowing her and helping her because you refuse to know or help yourself. I think that's who she reminded you of. _You._ Small and cold and alone."

The Captain seemed to crumple inward. Steve stared at his palms sitting on his thighs. "I'm an ass."

***

Loki called out of work on Monday. She couldn't shake the rage and sadness and confusion and fear that had settled over her. The library and the coffee shop could survive without her for a day. The world would still turn just the same way Asgard was going on without her. She went back to bed after calling her employers and stayed there, trading off between sleeping and staring at the ceiling until well past noon.

Loki was back in Germany. He had just gouged a man's eye out to gain access to a restricted area. He strode out of the building listening to his boots make a satisfying thud with every step. Golden light shimmered around him and his suit and coat became his Asgardian robes. He felt the weight of his helmet settle on his head and was comforted by its familiar balance. He had the urge to run his free hand over the dangerous, curving horns just to feel the cool metal beneath his fingertips.

Loki knew he was dreaming for two reasons. First, because he was a man. Second,because as the Captain stepped forward to meet him at the foot of the stairs, the Avenger removed his mask. "You have to go. I'm trying to help you. It's what I do." His eyes were so sincere, but his stance was meanacing. Loki struck out and the Captain caught the scepter in his red-gloved hands. "Let me help you." Loki shoved the butt of the scepter toward the gleaming white star at the center of the Captain's chest and let go. He turned and began to mount the steps two at a time when the Captain stumbled back. He heard the scepter clatter to the ground. He was seized about the waist and pulled. Loki fell hard, his chin hitting the pavement and his teeth knocking together. He clawed at the unforgiving ground as he was dragged backward. He yelled. He kicked. He struggled. The grip around his waist was relentless.

Loki was still screaming when she woke. She nearly fell out of bed as she startled to alertness. Her throat was raw. Her heart was racing. She gasped for breath.

She sat there for a moment, trying to shake off the fear. What was that incessant tap-tap-tapping? Loki looked toward her window and noticed the bird sitting on her window sill. It's black feathers looked nearly blue in the sunlight and contrasted starkly with the white breast. She shakily left the bed and went to the window to open it. "Hello, Mr. Magpie. How are you today?" Loki bowed slightly as the bird hopped onto the inner sill and down onto the bedside table. The bird cocked its head and spat out a pomegranate seed. "Thank you, sir." The bird flew off and Loki closed the window behind it.

She stood there, looking at the seed with apprehension gripping her chest for what felt like an eternity. She knew what this had to mean. Hel would not do this unless something dire had happened. Asgard must know she did not die. They must be searching for her. Loki waved her hand over the seed and watched it unfurl and become a precisely folded square of parchment, her daughter's royal seal in dark purple wax holding it closed.

***

_Most Honored Father,_

_It is my most fervent wish that this message finds you safe, finds you well. When I heard the news of your death and the events surrounding it, I was beside myself. Had I known you had been incarcerated, I would have come to you. I would have fought for your release, for your exoneration._

_I was summoned to Asgard by the Allfather. He demanded to know if you had come to me to seek shelter. He proclaimed that your spirit was not welcome in Valhalla. Freyja agreed that you would be given no respite in Folkvangr as well. Odin demanded of me that you not be allowed to find refuge in my Halls. I refused the Allfather because I could not refuse my most beloved father._

Hel had strode up to the foot of the throne with purpose. Her dove-grey gown swirled about her, giving her the look of traveling with a cloud of smoke. The Aesir flinched as she made eye contact with any of them who deigned to look at her. The expression on her face, beautiful and frightening in it's partial lack of flesh and gleaming white bone, was dangerous.

" _You._ You who have denied him proper rites! You who have betrayed him! You who have left him to rot on Svartalfheim!" She looked straight at Odin, daring him to contradict her. "You who have barred him access to a peaceful afterlife," she looked at Freyja with distain, " _you disgust me._ "

Odin had demanded that she bend to his will, to not allow her own father to enter the realm she presided over if his spirit found its way there. "If my father comes to me, he will be welcomed with open arms. He will be given the honor and glory that he _deserves_ having fought to defend Yggdrasil, to avenge Frigga's death. He deserves a seat in Valhalla. You know it. Instead you have doomed him to wander the roots and branches of Yggdrasil. I hope that Ragnarok comes swiftly so that he might find peace."

"One good act. One good, act done for selfish reasons--for revenge--does not negate a lifetime of lies and destruction."

Hel spat at the foot of the thone. She turned on her heel and stormed out of the palace. Even in her fury, she had a grace that made it look at though her feet did not touch the ground. Her storm was more glide.

_Father, do not attempt to send word back to me. Do not reveal yourself; it is too dangerous. I know that you live. I feel it. Find peace away from Odin. Away from Heimdall. Away from all those who have proved themselves unworthy of you._

_With affection,_

_Hel_

_Queen of Helheim_

***

Loki felt love and sadness and relief wash over herself. She had not been discovered. Her daughter loved her. _With affection._ It was a lot from a woman who had been sent away as a child, torn away from her parents and forced to rule over the dead beneath the roots of Yggdrasil. Suddenly, the world looked slightly brighter.

***

"Let's talk about Natasha." Steve groaned. The doctor had allowed Steve a while to shake and cry and decompress. Now it was time to get back to business. "As long as we're facing hard facts, today will be the day you stop avoiding telling me why you've decided to let her in. She reminds you of Peggy. You've already admitted that much, the rest should be easy."

Natasha did remind Steve of Peggy. Both women had learned to survive in what was predominately a man's world. They were ridiculously intelligent. Witty. Charming in their own ways. Strong. Silent. Purposeful. Perceptive. Insightful. Beautiful. Unforgiving. Resilient. Driven. Kind. Warm in their coldness. Steve ran out of adjectives before he ran out of sentiments. "She reminds me of things that make sense. She reminds me of before the ice. When I was just a soldier. When I just wanted to do good. When I felt like I really was _doing_ good instead of just _looking_ good. She accepts me. She gives me space. She gives me time. She lets me be _the_ Captain and be Captain Rogers and be Steve. If she didn't love Clint, I would jump at the chance to be with her. To be worthy of her."

"You don't think you're worthy of her?" Steve nodded. "And Onheil?"

"Small and cold and alone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did everyone like the brief break from Steve and Loki's perspectives? I did so love writing Hel. How is everyone liking the broken up chapters? Do you prefer when the chapter is all one point of view?
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	17. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha tries to warn Steve. Coulson re-appears.

Steve threw himself into his work after that. The woman with the wild green eyes who kept begging him not to make her go back somewhere was pushed into a less accessible corner of his mind. He still saw her. His patterns hadn't changed, couldn't change. He was afraid of tipping the precarious balance that medication and repetition had created for him. He continued to observe her, but less like a target, as he realized he had done before. She wasn't a HYDRA operative. She was a beautiful and somewhat aloof woman that had caught his interest. He still wanted to know her, to help her with whatever it was she seemed to be avoiding, but he would allow it to happen on her terms and her time. If it never happened, it wouldn't be the first time in his life that a beautiful girl hadn't returned his interest.

That's what he told himself. It helped him get through the day and focus on the strategic planning and team directing that SHIELD required of him.

"I found out something interesting." Natasha was standing in the doorway of his small office at SHIELD HQ a week after Steve had given her the information from Onheil's ID card. "Well, I've actually found nothing, which is the interesting part."

"What do you mean?"

"I felt like I'd seen her somewhere before. I just couldn't place it. It had been bothering me since I saw her...that week...it's still bothering me, to be honest."

"Natasha, what is it?" Steve sighed heavily. He'd never be able to get his focus back to the file in front of him detailing some terror cell or another that needed to be taken out, yet another cash of weapons an ammo hidden away in a desert, possibly to be used in conjunction with the latest super-villain's plans. His mind would be stuck at the park, in the coffee shop, at the bar, on his couch, the rest of the day.

"The woman is a ghost." Natasha went on to detail reaching out to contacts in Homeland Security and Interpol and any other agency she could pull a string or two in.

"Now who's the one obsessively stalking?"

" _You_ were stalking. I'm doing what I was _trained_ to do, what I do for a living." That was why Steve hadn't wanted Natasha to dig, at first, to leave it alone. She approached every unknown like a mark that was to be taken out.

"I came up with a birth certificate and a social security card. Then nothing. Nothing until New York. Then there's job applications and a lease on an apartment, and tax forms, and bank accounts, and a credit card, and utility bills..."

"Sounds like she's a regular person, Natasha."

"You just don't stay completely off-grid for twenty-some-odd years, Steve."

"You did."

"I know. But I was..." Natasha didn't like to talk about what she was just as much as Steve didn't like to talk about the things that kept him awake at night. "But that got me thinking. That and the weird name that's actually just a random Dutch word." Steve frowned at that. Onheil's exotic sounding and seemingly "random" name was part of her appeal. "What if she hadn't been in the country? That's why I reached out to DHS, Interpol. Thought there was an A-file or a passport or something that I was missing or couldn't access that could help put the pieces together."

"And?"

"Nothing. No one else has any record of her. She's a ghost. To be honest, I don't think Onheil Ferguson _exists_."

"It's not like she's a figment of my imagination, Natasha. I have PTSD. I'm not schizoaffective." That had been a hard thing to find out, that Dr. Cooper had considered that before settling on a diagnosis. Steve still wasn't sure if he wanted to hug Tony or hit him for helping him hack into his own SHIELD file. He'd had to know what his therapist was discussing with SHIELD about him, how much of his privacy was really being invaded.

"That's not what I mean, Cap. I mean, I think she's living under a false identity."

Steve rubbed his face hard and ran his fingers through his hair. "So what? Plenty of people have aliases." She had asked him twice not to make her go back. Someplace. Someplace where there were people who didn't understand her. So she was hiding something. Or in hiding. Whatever it was couldn't possibly be as big a deal as Natasha was making it out to be.

"Just leave it alone, Natasha. She made it clear she doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm trying to move on. This isn't really helping."

"Cap, there's something not right with her. I don't like it. I don't want you to get hurt. Or compromised."

"Natasha, _please._ "

"Whatever she's hiding could--"

" _Enough_ , Agent Romanoff." Steve's hand came down on his desk hard. The papers on top of it fluttered like he'd made them nervous. Natasha set her jaw and glared at him.

"Fine, _Captain_." She turned on her heel and stalked away. Natasha paused for a moment a few feet from his door. She didn't turn around. "It's a library, not a bookstore, by the way. Hell's Kitchen."

Steve's mind wandered the rest of the afternoon. His lack of focus frustrated him. Since his only task had been to evaluate those files, he headed down to the training floor. If anyone said anything, he'd tell them that wailing on the hanging bag was helping him think.

He changed into sweats in the locker room and began to wrap his hands as he walked down the corridor to the more traditional gym area. He looked up when he heard Coulson's voice.

Steve hadn't seen the man since that last night he spent locked up in his apartment. His ears and cheeks turned pink as he remembered his interaction with the agent who idolized him, who had pushed for him to be a part of the team with less than mild embarrassment. When Steve had come back to work he'd learned that Coulson had accepted a new recruitment and training mission that had taken him away from HQ for some time. "All agents are expected to maintain a certain level of physical fitness. We've had to learn the hard way that when a big bad comes to town, it needs to be all hands on deck. That includes scientists, not just field agents."

Agent Coulson appeared to be giving a tour. Steve wondered if the two young people following him were members of his new team. The pair looked young enough to barely be in college and they had a conspiratorial air about them. "Oh. My. Goodness." Steve froze as the man--boy--with Coulson spoke. The woman--girl--matched the other's expression of pure joy. Coulson sighed, "Fitz-Simmons, this is Steve Rogers. You'll probably know him better as--"

The two cut him off, in perfect unison, "Captain America!"

Steve winced at the gleeful intonation, "Hello, there." Coulson approached his once-idol cautiously. "Are these two members of your new team?" Coulson nodded, "Captain, meet Fitz-Simmons."

"Which one of you is that?"

The girl giggled, "We both are."

"Are you...some kind of...symbiote...thing?"

The girl giggled again, her cheeks pinkening lightly. "No, no, Captain. _He's_ Fitz. Leo Fitz." She indicated the boy at her side.

The boy spoke, gesturing toward the girl, " _This_ is Simmons. Jemma Simmons."

"They're scientists. Some of the brightest. Agent Simmons specializes in biochemistry and Agent Fitz is an engineer." The two grinned as Coulson spoke about them in turn.

Steve raised a brow, "Have you introduced them to Stark yet?"

The two young scientists looked at each other and seemed to communicate something wordlessly. "I don't think I want them _that_ corrupted just yet. Maybe Banner first," Coulson said. He seemed either to not notice or not mind the telepathic-looking communication that was going on beside him.

Steve smiled and frowned just as quickly. "Agent Coulson...Phil. Are we...okay?"

Coulson looked at the Captain hard for a moment, evaluating, deciding. He nodded once and held out his hand. Steve took it and shook it hoping that Coulson understood and accepted his apology.

"Captain. _Captain America_ \--" Steve held up a wrapped hand and told Simmons to simply call him by his name. " _Steve_. I'd love to watch you." She held her hands up in loose fists. Steve's ears turned pink. "You know, to take some readings. Study the biometrics, mechanical and somatic funtions--oh!--what the serum has done in terms of somatic hypermutation..." She trailed off dreamily. She was frighteningly like Stark in that moment. Steve swore he could see the gears in her head turning.

Steve started to respond and Coulson held a hand up. "Captain Rogers is not a lab rat, Agent Simmons." The girl frowned and looked at her shoes. Fitz put a hand lightly on her shoulder.

"It's fine, Agent Coulson, thank you." Steve tried to sound as sincere as he possibly could. "Perhaps another time. I was hoping to get some thinking done, clear my head a little." The two young scientists nodded together.

"Let's go, Fitz-Simmons. We've still got to get you introduced to the resident scientists, get you settled into your lab here." He turned to Steve, "Have a good day, Captain. Don't destroy too many hanging bags. Fury'll start making you pay for them soon." One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile and he led his recruits away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really watch Agents of SHIELD, I've only caught a few episodes here and there, but I wanted to include Coulson's new endeavor! I hope I didn't butcher Fitz-Simmons too badly. From what little I've seen of the show, they're my favorite and I wanted them to have a moment.
> 
> Sorry for the brevity of the chapter, it felt like it was getting a bit rambly and I didn't want to bore you!
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for all the feedback! I hope you continue to enjoy the story!


	18. Becoming Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki feels some security and decides that it's time to finally settle into her new life on Midgard.

Loki went about her life. Business as usual. Or at least, as usual as business had been since the battle against Malekith. She could feel herself entering a comfort zone, encouraged by Hel's message to create and maintain a new life. She may never again get to truly be Loki, of Asgard. Or Loki, of Jotunheim. Or Lufeyson. Or Odinson. Or Friggason. But, she _could_ be Onheil Ferguson. At least for now. And she could still be the Trickster or Silvertongue or Liesmith. Those things were as much a part of her as the bone beneath her muscles or the blood in her veins.

Each day, Loki became Onheil just a little bit more fully.

It had come to her readily, that word, while she was filling out all the various applications to secure shelter and wealth. _Onheil._

Loki was familiar with most of what the Midgardians called "Germanic" languages. They all contained elements of the tongue that had been spoken in the areas she'd visited so long ago. Before discovering Odin's lies. Before her children. _Before._

It meant "mischief." But it also meant doom. It felt appropriate. The surname had been harder.

Silvertonge? Liesmith? Silver. Silversmith. Smith. No, too many Smiths in this world. Silverlie. Lietongue? That was just silly. No variation on Trickster sounded reasonable. Something more traditional. Something that felt like home. She was never truly Odinson. Just as she could never truly feel Lufeyson. Something completely different, then. Something more about herself than about who she came from. Hel...Helsire. No, that sounded too made-up and repetitive with the name she'd chosen. Frigga had truly been the only parent she'd ever known. Even if the Queen of Asgard had actively participated in Odin's lies, had not disallowed the removal of Loki's children...Loki had at least felt liked by her on most days. Loki would call herself Friggason. That didn't sound enough like a Midgardian family name, though. She'd racked her brain, trying to think of something. Something that sounded old enough to be an established family line, not something new and anonymous. Frigga. Friggason. Friggson. Frig. Firg. Firggson. Ferguson.

_Onheil Ferguson._

It had been easy enough to create all the documents that would make Onheil Ferguson a real person by magic once she knew what she'd need. A little bit of magic here and there produced hardcopies of birth certificates and social security cards or sent them out to appear during a search for the records. She'd found it easy after that to obtain everything else she needed to be comfortable. To hide. To function.

So, Loki began to nest, to create a home. She'd lived for all those months with the bare minimum. Enough furniture filled her small apartment to make it look lived in, should someone require admittance. Several articles of clothing hung in the tiny closet space and could be transformed so as to not appear too repetitive too often. Her still-hidden Asgardian robes were folded carefully, placed into a box, and pushed back into the corner of the shelf in the closet. Loki began to purchase more clothing--save for shoes, that was still too overwhelming--to end the need to transform what she had so regularly. Why waste valuable magic and energy when it could be conserved for quick re-locating if the need arose? The magic she saved could be channeled into doing things that she enjoyed, like making mischief.

Loki began to fill her home with personal things. Instead of just listening to the records at the shop on Franklin, she bought them and took them home to play on a Victrola she found in a thrift store. She consumed every bit of music she could. She learned the words and sang along as she danced and swayed. She bought paints and canvasses and covered the walls in pictures that were realistic and abstract and colorful and monochrome and insane and sober. She took photographs and had them framed. She built herself a bookshelf from a kit and filled it to bursting. She brought home pillows and blankets and trinkets that made her apartment feel more lived in and complete.

In the end, it looked like she had transformed her palace rooms into their Midgardian equivalent.

A week after Hel's message arrived, Loki found herself sitting on the floor of her small living room. She lifted a slice of English cucumber out of a dish, dipped it into a tart dressing, and put it into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks. Loki had found it diverting to learn to use all of the strange dinnerware available in the store that she had purchased things for her kitchen in. She chewed thoughtfully as she surveyed all that she had surrounded herself with and took a sip from the glass of dark red wine sitting on the floor beside her. There was paint splattered lightly on her forearms. The canvas resting on a sheet on the floor in front of her was slowly transforming into a depiction of the Midgardian sky at twilight, the way she saw it from her bedroom window. It was not transforming by magic, but by the slow and meticulous work of her own hands. The record in motion on the turntable of the Victrola made popping and hissing sounds as it neared the end of the recording.

Loki smiled to herself. This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the look into Loki's world. We've finally got an explanation as to why he chose the name he did, although I'm sure most of you have deduced as much on your own already.
> 
> I think the next chapter is going to be a split-perspective, so get ready for some disjointed insanity! Hopefully it will be a bit longer than this one was.
> 
> As ever, I hope you're enjoying the story. Thank you so much for reading and for all of the feedback.


	19. Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve get closer.

_Onheil,_

_I'm writing to say that I'm sorry. I've gone through pages trying to say it properly, and I don't think that I can find the right words. I hope that this is enough, that you understand._

_When if first saw you, I thought that I knew you. I had this overwhelming feeling that you'd been a part of my life before. I couldn't place you in the present. I believed for some time that you simply reminded me of someone from before the war. But I knew that wasn't entirely true. I don't think I had ever seen someone like you. You were guarded and frightened but your eyes still had such fire in them. You made everything feel charged and static._

_My therapist thinks that I've been so drawn to you because you really remind me of myself. I'm beginning to think that he's right. All anyone sees is what's on the outside. The body that the Super Serum created. The hero that the media covers. No one sees me. When I see myself, I look very much like you did, that night in the rain. Small and cold and alone. I think that was--is--a large part of the reason I tried so hard to make you let me help you._

_I would be lying if I didn't say that part of the attraction wasn't just that. I wanted to know you, the woman who was so defiant even though she clearly was fragile, so badly. I fell in love with the idea of you. It didn't help that you are, quite frankly, beautiful._

_I feel completely foolish and exposed writing this to you. Knowing you'll read it. Hoping you'll read it and not just throw it away when you see the return address. But, I needed you to know. To know why. And to know that I get it. And to know that I'm sorry. I hope that you can forgive me._

_Sincerely,_

_Steve_

***

Loki leaned back against the sink in the kitchen as she read the Captain's letter. It had arrived a few days after she had completed her painting of the sky at twilight. She had found it odd that there had been an envelope with her address on it written by hand. The only things that ever arrived were bills that needed to be paid or what she had come to know was called "junk mail." She'd opened it without a second thought, too tempted by curiosity, while a pot of thick tomato sauce bubbled aromaticly on the stove.

The paper was heavy, like it had been pulled out of one of the Captain's ever-present sketchbooks. She could make out faint indentations in the page from those that had preceded it. 

She didn't know what to think of the letter. She had a nagging suspicion that it could be a set-up. The letter just seemed so damned sincere, though.

Loki sighed. She tacked the letter to her fridge with a magnet and turned back to the sauce that was now threatening to bubble over onto the stove.

***

Steve had regretted sending the letter as soon as it dropped into the mailbox on the corner with a thunk that meant the contents had already been retrieved by the postman for the morning. At least mailing it, rather than putting it into her mailbox himself, would give him a few days to control his nerves before she read it. Or didn't read it. At least it would be a few days to steel himself before he had to face her and her response or lack-thereof.

His whole body tensed when he heard her approaching his table in the coffee shop. The sound of her boots against the battered wooden floor had become so distinct and familiar to him. He looked up at her as she placed his order down in front of him beside his sketchbook. He ran his fingers through his hair, not knowing he'd left a smudge of pencil from his hand on his forehead as he did so. He wrapped his hands around the hot mug to steady them and swallowed hard.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can we..." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make his mind stop racing and his heart stop pounding. "Can we start over?"

Onheil wrapped her arms around herself and sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. She looked at him, her brilliant green eyes studying his face and his fingers around his mug and the smudge of pencil he didn't know was there. They swept over the sketch he was working on. Bruce sat on a tall stool, his back slightly hunched, his hair mussed, his attention focused on the flask in his hand. Her eyes met Steve's. She nodded.

"Well, then," Steve held out his hand. "Hi, my name's Steve."

She took it, shook it once. "Onheil. I'm new in town. You live around here?"

***

Loki decided to let the Captain in. Let him get close. It would be easier to watch him, predict his moves and what his end-game was, this way.

That's what Loki told herself.

***

Steve found himself staying longer in the coffee shop than he usually did on Sunday afternoons; making trips there in the evening after leaving SHIELD to bring home a fresh cup of coffee. He tried to tell himself that he just enjoyed the place, the atmosphere, the excellent cup o' joe. Really, he was just eager to pursue his budding friendship with the woman he so badly wanted to know.

Spring had turned to summer. His birthday passed without much event. A quiet party with his team at Stark Tower. An evening out to dinner with the young people he found had truly become his friends through the sculpture class.

When August arrived, Steve felt as though he'd gotten a spectacular, belated gift. He watched Onheil as she moved gracefully between the tables, a tray loaded with drinks balanced on a hand and a shoulder. Her long, pale, shapely legs were bare. They disappeared into the tops of those awful boots. A smart, forest green skirt skimmed over her thighs. He liked the skirt. It was much longer than what most of the other women today seemed to favor wearing, ending just a few inches above her knees. It was full and flowy and was such a contradiction to those boots. It was what was on top that pleased him the most. Just a simple white tee shirt. Tucked into the high waistband of the skirt. Sleeves rolled up neatly to expose more of the arm. It was _his_ shirt. He knew it was. There, at the back of the neck, the small rip from when he'd torn out the tag because it annoyed him.

***

Loki could feel the Captain's-- _Steve's_ \--eyes on her. She smiled as she passed his table on her way to return her now empty tray. Matthew handed her Steve's order and she walked it back to him. She placed it in his hands when he extended them, smiling up at her. "Black, no sugar."

He took a long sip and closed his eyes, "Thanks."

"You know, I think you're probably the only person in here drinking hot coffee in the middle of summer." He chuckled and said the iced stuff just wasn't right.

Loki felt glued to the spot, looking at the Captain and his smiling face with the crinkles around the outer edges of his perfectly crystal-clear blue eyes. She wondered if it tickled when he closed his eyes, the lashes just seemed so delicate and long. He ran his tongue over his pouty bottom lip, catching an errant drop of black coffee.

***

Steve felt like it was now or never. She was standing here, looking at him and smiling. Wearing his shirt. One hand was hooked into the pocket in the front of her apron, full of straws. The other rested on her hip. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, high on the back of her head. It came past her shoulders in luxurious waves even pulled up, now. He took a deep breath.

"There's an exhibition. On the Dutch masters. Paintings. I thought...with your name..." He put his mug down on the table. "Would you like to go with me?"

***

Loki was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again when nothing came out. Instead, she nodded and was relieved when Matthew called her back to the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY! FLUFF! SUNSHINE AND RAINBOWS AND ADORABLENESS!
> 
> I thought I owed Loki and Steve a break from the ridiculous tension in the previous chapters.
> 
> I think that'll be it for tonight, it's pretty late here and I've got plans early tomorrow morning.
> 
> I really hope you liked this one. As ever, thank you for reading and for the wonderful feedback. You guys are all amazing.


	20. The Exhibition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki discuss art and leave much unspoken.

Loki traded shifts that Saturday so that she would have the entire afternoon available to spend with the Captain at the Frick Collection. She'd looked up the museum online at the library and actually found herself excited to see the paintings that were being featured. She understood from news articles that had popped up in her search that there were two in particular that were wildly popular.

After she finished her shift of slinging coffees, Loki walked to the Brooklyn Museum and boarded the 4 train to Manhattan. It wasn't lost on her that she could save time and money by simply relocating at will. But where was the fun in that? Taking the train afforded her opportunities to observe the Midgardians around her, learn about them, and make mischief. Often they were small tricks, purely for entertainment. Untied shoelaces here. A rip in the bottom of a loaded bag there. A mysteriously missing Metrocard. An open pant fly. Loss of balance as the train screeched to a halt.

As Loki stood on the platform waiting for the A train to arrive, she noticed a group of youngsters. They reminded her of Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif. She could remember Sif wanting so badly to be a warrior rather than simply become someone's wife and crank out a small army of children. The boys had been hard on her, they had tried their best to dissuade her from her goal. They had teased and taunted and beat up on her. That seemed to be what was happening here.

Loki looked away, she didn't want to get involved with the spat going on. There was a police officer making his slow beat down the platform toward them. They were just so close to the edge. The girl's feet were planted in the foot-wide yellow zone. "Please?" she asked, "Please, can't I just come with you? I can keep up! I promise!" The boys teased her, closed in on her further, tried to intimidate her. What was wrong with the officer? Couldn't he see that the girl's feet were getting closer to the edge of the platform? The boys wouldn't back down.

Suddenly, the girl wasn't reminding her of Sif. She was reminding Loki of herself. Of wanting so badly to be allowed to play and fight and train and hunt with Thor and Baldr and Volstagg and Fandral and all the rest. As close as he and Thor had been as children, for the most part, Thor seemed to want nothing to do with him when it came to playing at grown-up, manly pursuits. _"Please?"_ she could hear herself whining in her high, little boy's voice, _"Can't I go hunting with you? I can keep up, I promise! I've been practicing with my bow!"_ Loki had held her skinny, boy's arms up, miming his nearly perfect form, elbow level with his ear. Thor had rolled his eyes and shook his head. _"Just stick to your books and your magic, Ki. We're bigger than you. You'll just hold us back."_

The girl was teetering at the edge. Her eyes were red and she was trying so hard to look big and tough and able to hang with the group of boys she was attached to. One of the larger ones bore a passing resemblance to her, perhaps and older brother. The girl shrieked and threw out her arms to the side as she tried to balance. The boys laughed. Loki felt herself reacting before she could temper it. Golden-green energy exploded toward the group, knocking the boys back and pulling the girl forward from the edge just before the train came barreling through the tunnel.

Loki's eyes went wide and she looked at her hands. She hadn't meant to do anything so public and obvious and memorable. People began to look around. The boys scrambled to their feet, pretending nothing had happened. The girl was helped to stand by an older woman who had been walking down the stairs from the street level. "Are you alright, child?" The girl nodded tearfully. Loki stepped behind a support beam, looked about herself to ensure no one was watching, and disappeared.

She appeared again at the bottom of the stairs at the train station at Columbus Circle where she was meant to meet with the Captain and continue on to the museum uptown on foot.

***

Steve couldn't help but smile when he saw Onheil emerging from underground. He was perpetually amazed at how put-together she looked, how purposefully-by-accident her aesthetic was. He always felt inadequate with his buttons down shirts and slacks when he stood beside her. When she smiled at him, it made his heart swell.

Their friendship had fallen into an easy, safe routine since the day she agreed that they could start over. It felt like a summer romance without the romance. He found that he was okay with it. He discovered something new about her every time he spoke to her.

She had moved to New York from Arizona and arrived on the night they had first met in the rain. Her mother had recently died in an accident that she was unwilling to discuss. She'd never been close with her father and had felt betrayed by her brother, who stood to inherit everything. She'd been close to him at one time, but their relationship had been strained for the past several years and had eventually fallen apart. They'd come together to deal with the aftermath of their mother's death. She'd thought they might be able to rekindle their relationship, but he'd abandoned her when she'd needed him most.

She'd come from a wealthy family but wasn't receiving any support. She was completely on her own in the city and was determined to remain that way.

She loved art. She enjoyed painting and photography the most. She was ravenous for new music and had eclectic taste. She learned the words and the melodies quickly and remembered them nearly perfectly for the most part. She loved books. Her part-time job at the library in Hell's Kitchen enabled her addiction.

Steve had noticed things for himself that Onheil hadn't told him directly. She had rhythm and grace. As she moved through the crowded tables of the coffee shop with a tray balanced in the air, she seemed like a skater gliding over ice. He'd often passed by the shop, late at night after a long day at work, to see her sweeping up, moving to the beat of whatever music was playing over the stereo system inside.

She was ridiculously perceptive, like she could intuitively sense things about the world around her. As a result, Steve had found that he wasn't experiencing his symptoms as severely as before. At first, he'd had less intense episodes when he did have them. Then they'd become fewer and farther between. Then they'd become rare. He still had anxiety and depression and flashbacks and nightmares and had even once again found himself waking up in a bed that was more damp than what could have just be the result of frightened sweating. However, he found all of those things no longer debilitating. He didn't feel like he couldn't leave his home. He didn't feel like he couldn't step on a train that would go over an above-ground platform. He didn't feel like he wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. He felt like he could push through it. It didn't stop him from living.

He'd spoken to Dr. Cooper about as much. Yes, he felt that in part, the medication was doing it's job. But, there was Onheil with her soft touches and affectionate caresses. Arms, hands, shoulders. Pushing stray hair back off of his forehead. Licking her thumb and wiping a smear of charcoal or pencil off his cheek as she passed his table in the shop while he was sketching. Asking him if he was okay? Letting him know she was there if she was needed. Asking what a particular drawing was about rather than just what the subject was. 

The doctor had pointed out that Natasha had offered the same. Steve realized that. He was forever in debt to Natasha for her friendship and love. But it was different with Onheil. He wasn't a team member that needed looking out for. He was just simply, first and foremost, a friend. He could sit with Natasha in comfortable silence. He could talk about his day. He could talk about how some mission or another had affected him. He couldn't go for walks in the park. He couldn't talk about art and music and literature. She didn't seem to have an interest in any of those things. He couldn't sit on a sunny patch of grass, stretched on a picnic blanket with a sketchbook in front of him and a silently reading woman beside him when it was Natasha.

"I think you love this girl, Captain Rogers." Steve nodded, he thought he did too.

"But I don't think she loves me."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Strangely enough, yes."

Steve held out his elbow to Onheil when she approached him. She held it with her long, elegant fingers and they walked toward the entrance of Central Park. She kept a casual pace with him. Her touch was light. She didn't seem to be there with him, though. "Onheil? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" She looked toward him, her eyes becoming instantly less far away. "I'm sorry. My mind is elsewhere." Steve asked her if something had happened, if something was bothering her. "No...just," she paused like she was deciding what exactly to say. "Some kids on the train. Made me think of my brother."

"I'm sorry." Steve knew it was a sensitive subject and that she didn't like to be pressed to discuss it.

Onheil turned her vibrant eyes on him and smiled. "Don't be. Its not your fault."

They turned up the east side of the park and made their way toward 70th. Steve slowed at 67th. They stopped in front of a large monument.

***

Loki watched Steve as he stopped and looked at the gigantic bronze statue depicting soldiers in action. His jaw set. The vein in his temple stood out slightly. She could feel the muscles in his arm tense beneath her hand. Everything added up to the possibility that the Captain was about to have some kind of emotional attack. She didn't understand the mental disorder that he'd told her he suffered from. She'd tried to read about it at the library, but it all just made her head swim. He'd said it was like his heart and his head were arguing all the time and neither one could cooperate with the world around him.

Loki read the concrete base of the monument. "Seventh regiment, New York. One hundred and seventh United States infantry." She looked at Steve. His jaw was clenched too tight. "Wasn't that your unit?" Steve nodded once sharply. "But these men were before you." She indicated the bronze figures. Steve nodded again. "What's going on in there?"

***

Onheil didn't tap the side of his head the way Dr. Cooper did when he asked the same question. She tapped his chest, his heart, after she'd extricated her hand from his arm. "I," he started to speak, but his jaw was too tight. He opened and closed his mouth for a moment. "I was part of it later. Bucky. He...he got in before I did. They took me--Erksine chose me--on Bucky's last night before he shipped out. At the recruitment center at the Modern Marvels Expo."

Onheil was still beside him. Listening. "Bucky?"

"My best friend. My brother."

"The one you lost."

Steve nodded.

***

Loki cupped Steve's chin in her hand and forced him to look away from the monument and at her. "You're not there. You're here. With me. And Bucky is somewhere better." She slipped her arm around his waist and rubbed her thumb back and forth against his side as she stared into his stormy blue eyes.

***

Steve looked into the emerald colored eyes that were looking so intently at him. They were full of concern and understanding. He didn't know how she understood him so easily. She just did. There was just something so amazing about this woman and they way she fit perfectly into the hole that had been in his life and his heart. He didn't care if she never found him romantically interesting. She was his friend. His honest-to-goodness, unconditional friend.

Steve exhaled fully and closed his eyes. The tension started to leave his body. "I just...I forgot this was here. I wasn't prepared for it." He put his arm across Onheil's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

She smiled at him softly. "Don't be. Its not your fault."

***

Loki and Steve walked the last three blocks in comfortable silence. She kept her arm around his waist. He kept his around her shoulders. The weight of it was like something trying to keep her from floating away.

They entered the quiet sanctity of the museum. Steve flashed a membership card and they were waved through the line. They avoided the exhibition on the Dutch masters, seeing the rest of the museum first. There were portraits and sculptures and still lives and clocks and silver objects of all sorts. There was beautiful, delicate looking furniture. There were whole rooms dedicated to single, large scale works. Steve talked about each piece as if it was an old friend. She noticed less and less tension in his jaw. Less stiffness to his stride. The vein in his temple laid flat. His arm stayed around her shoulder for the most part as he steered her from room to room, leaving only when he used both hands to speak with.

Loki found herself enthralled.

***

They finally arrived at what they'd come to see. The Vermeers were exquisite. Some he'd seen before, they were a part of the permanent collection. Others were on loan from museums in other states or countries.

"His paintings are so vibrant and real. They're almost like photographs. All the fabrics look like they'd rustle or be soft if you could touch them." Onheil pointed out that many of the paintings looked like they were of the same room even though the subjects were wildly different. "His studio. If you look, it's the same table and chairs too. He just painted different people and scenarios into the same space." She looked critically at the table runner in a picture of a group of people that looked like they were having a party. Wine was flowing, there was even a child being allowed to smoke from a pipe. "It looks like it's really embroidered onto the canvas," she said before an older man in a maroon jacket scolded her for leaning too close. The painting had no glass in front of it. Very few of them actually did.

Steve stifled a laugh when Onheil stuck her tongue out at the museum attendant when he turned his back on her. She grinned at him conspiratorially.

***

Loki grinned at the Captain when she heard him cover a laugh. She loved when he laughed. He didn't do it very often. When he did, the sound came up from his toes and was fully of life and joy. She sent a little magic out and the man in the maroon coat who had scolded her tripped over an invisible bump in the carpet.

***

"And _this_ , is the Girl." Steve pulled Onheil closer. She gently let her head rest against his shoulder. "What do you think?"

"I think she looks a little bit like your red-headed friend."

Steve looked at the painting for a long moment. He couldn't deny the resemblance, even if it was only passing. "I mean, what do you think about the portrait itself?"

"I think its obscene. Beautiful, really, but obscene."

"How so?"

"She's fully clothed. Her head is covered with the turban. Its so...ostentatious. But she's so naked. Her eyes are so wide and...open. They're searching for something. Seeing something. Her mouth almost looks like she's just been kissed. Or wants to be kissed. She's longing for something. Something more. She sees beyond the edges of the canvas. She knows she meant for something bigger."

Steve squeezed Onheil's shoulder in appreciation. She looked up at him, questioning. "Did I say something wrong?" No, she hadn't. "Who is she?"

"No one knows. Some people think it's Vermeer's oldest daughter, but there's nothing really documented to support that. He could have hired a random model. He could have just imagined her."

Steve went on to tell Onheil about all of the things that had been discovered about the painting during restorations in the past. One of the highlights on the pearl was actually just a flaked off piece of paint. If it had been a live model, it probably wasn't a real pearl, just a glass drop earring painted to look like one for the visual reference. The highlight on the girl's lip had been covered at one time. The background looked black, but it was actually meant to be a rich, dark green. "Like your eyes." Onheil rolled her eyes at that.

Steve didn't tell Onheil that the painting had actually come to remind him of her. Instead, he silently fell in love with her just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. That was sappy. I'm so sorry.
> 
> Did everyone catch/enjoy the Scarlett Johansson reference? :)
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for all of the feedback. You're all entirely too kind and if I could hug each and every one of you, I would.


	21. Germany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki does some thinking.
> 
> EDIT: 01-14-2014, I was rereading the chapter to refresh my memory and noticed a ton of errors, hopefully I've fixed them all now. I'm so embarrassed.

Loki was back in Germany. He'd just gouged out a man's eye to gain access to a restricted area. He strode out of the building, but his suit and coat did not transform into his Asgardian robes. His shoes made soft, sharp sounds against the concrete steps as he walked. The cane that was really a scepter tapped out a staccato rhythm at his side. He waited.

Loki knew he was dreaming for two reasons. First, because he was a man. Second, because he was back in Germany again. _Why did all of his dreams depend on Germany?_

Captain America approached in all of his star-spangled glory. He hesitated in front of Loki, remaining on the step below as he removed his mask and let it fall to the ground with a soft thunk.

"And what do you plan on doing, _Captain_? Are you going to hit me or just stand there? I've done some _very_ naughty things today." Loki let the cane make a lazy arc through the air, mimicking the motion from a few moments earlier--moments he did not experience in his dreams but had in waking life--when he'd struck a man down with it. He let it fall almost gently onto the Captain's shoulder. "Well?"

The Captain shrugged the cane from his shoulder and reached up to seize Loki's lapels and scarf in one quick, easy motion. He yanked Loki forward, forcing him to step down and lean so that the two were at eye level.

Loki opened his mouth to speak again as he looked into the stormy blue eyes in front of him. Before he could get another snide word out, the Captain silenced him with his own mouth and pulled away just as abruptly.

Loki felt his heart racing. He could feel the red-gloves hands at his chest trembling with the force that was being used to grip the fabric of his clothing. He could feel the Captain's breath against his face, hot and ragged. 

Loki let the cane that was really a scepter fall from his grip and listened to it hit the steps and clatter down. He looked from the blue eyes to the blonde hair that had fallen across the lightly sweated forehead and back again. With the space of a breath, he and the Captain were joined once more. The strong Midgardian kept his grip. The demi-god's fingers found their way to the back of the blonde head and tightened his own grip on the damp hair. They pulled back, breathing hard and staring harder. They pressed closer as they battled for dominance with mouth and lips and teeth and tongue.

He couldn't help but smile into the mouth that seemed to be trying to consume Loki when the Captain let out a snarl and tried to pull him closer, tried to make their bodies to fuse together by sheer force.

Loki woke in the moments before dawn. She knew the hour instinctively, she didn't need to look at the clock. Her body had become as attuned to the Midgardian solar cycle in her time there as she had been with that of Asgard her whole life. She kept her eyes closed, trying to will herself back to sleep, back to dreaming and Germany and the Captain's hands on her body.

It was no use. Her skin felt too sticky. Her hair was wrapped uncomfortably about her neck. The comforter was tangled around her lower body. Her heart was pounding in her chest in a way that it hadn't for a very long time. Loki turned half onto her side, the comforter caught tight between her legs. She pressed her face into her pillow as she rocked her hips. She writhed. She undulated. She pulled the comforter tighter. Squeezed her thighs together more firmly. She could feel her heartbeat throbbing far lower than her chest. She felt like her skin was going to burst out into flame. She let out a frustrated moan, muffled by the pillow, as the muscles in her lower abdomen began to flutter and halted disappointingly. _If she could just get the right friction..._

Loki turned over onto her back once more. Through the veil of her eyelids she could tell that the first rays of orange light were beginning to filter through the window. She drew in a shaking breath and slipped her hand between the plane of her stomach and the waistband of her sweatpants. _Steve's_ sweatpants. As she ran her fingers over herself, feeling how wet she'd become as she dipped her fingertips into her folds, she realized she was so aroused it was nearly painful. She found a slow rhythm, delicious in its agony, made all the more wonderful by the soft fabric of Steve's pants touching her legs, her behind, her hand, her stomach.

She screwed her eyes shut more tightly, her toes curled, the muscles in her legs tensed while those in her stomach fluttered. Then everything was pulsating and throbbing and her head felt light. She gasped hard for breath, aware finally that she'd stopped drawing it in.

Loki removed her hand from between her legs and draped her arm over her face. She laid still while her heartbeat returned to a normal pace and the sun rose in earnest. She let her arm fall away and finally opened her eyes. The Girl was staring back at her from the matted print that was now hanging on the wall opposite the bed, among the paintings she'd created herself. "And now we are both obscene. I think you're the only beautiful one of the pair, though."

***

The rest of the day with the Captain had been pleasant and casual. She'd purchased a print of the painting that he had been so eager to show her, to discuss with her, to experience with her. While the Captain-- _Steve_ , she found herself thinking of him that way more and more often--had been speaking about the mysterious subject of the painting, she had felt something change within herself. Loki had allowed Steve into her life to keep an eye on him. To keep him close. To nip any suspicion in the bud. To stay abreast of SHIELD's plans and intelligence. He was just so sincere. He truly _felt_. He felt everything. Rarely did Steve think solely with his head. His heart directed him more than it probably should. For all that he had seen and experienced in his oddly short life, for all of the problems he professed to have, he seemed truly innocent. Not naive, but innocent. Innocent of any true malice or hatred. Even when he spoke about the travesties of war, of the horrible things that the people he had fought against had done, he spoke of them as if he felt sorry for both sides. He wasn't blindly righteous. He was truthful and loyal and eager. He was someone that Loki had found herself growing to tolerate and then to like and then to truly enjoy being with. And so, she listened to him speak about the Girl and felt as though there was something more that he wasn't quite saying.

Steve had insisted that she accompany him to dinner. "Is this a date, Captain?" He'd frowned then. She knew at this point in their ever-deepening and wholly odd friendship that he realized she called him by his title when she was displeased.

"No, not if you don't want it to be."

"I don't."

"Then its not."

They'd walked miles from the museum on 70th on the east side of the park all the way back down to the tourist-laden area in the 40s, clear across the island. Loki found she didn't like the press of the crowds and the noise and the glare of the lights. She shrank into Steve's side and he held her closer, his arm firmly around her shoulders, anchoring her. "Perhaps we should try a different neighborhood?" Steve looked and her and nodded, clearly conscious of her discomfort. They continued walking as twilight fell and turned to night and finally came to a stop at 23rd Street. They spent the night talking about the art and the people they'd seen, how they felt. They made comparisons and argued over glasses of wine and fries sprinkled with truffle oil. They sat in quiet, mutual appreciation as they tucked away hare pies.

"So are you actually Dutch?" Steve asked as he watched her take a sip of dark red wine. Loki paused in thought, pretending to be savoring the taste but really debating how to answer. She nodded.

"My mother was." There. A small lie in the sea of surprising truths she found herself telling him. He'd assumed she was because her name was from the same language. She nodded again, yes, he was right about her name.

Loki had begun by letting herself believe that she told Steve as many truths as she had because it was easier than keeping track of elaborate lies and illusions. She told herself she'd grown weary of being the Liesmith. She could enjoy being Silvertongue more fully if she suppressed the other side of it. Over the course of the summer she came to realize that she was telling Steve the truth because she wanted him to know her. To _understand_ her. To like her. Even if she could never be Loki. Even if she was always Onheil. She could at least feel connected to someone. She could at least feel like she wasn't alone in this world. Steve had said many times that he felt alone. Alone in his problems and his out-dated sensibilities and his beliefs and his relationship with the world. Loki found that being alone with Steve didn't feel like being alone. She found that she felt slightly less small and cold.

***

Loki found herself dreading the Captain's predictable appearance after he attended his house of worship that day. She wasn't sure that she could face him after she'd found completion to the thought of him that morning. She felt conflicted. It had been wonderful. Her bones had felt like they were made out of jelly for quite a while after she peeled herself out of bed and stepped into the shower. She'd forgotten how wonderful arousal and orgasm felt as a woman. Everything was so internal and magnified. What wasn't wonderful was that the thoughts that had brought it all about were centered around a man who was supposed to be her enemy. Who shouldn't be her friend, let alone that she should not find herself attracted to.

When she eventually brought his coffee to him, black-no-sugar, she couldn't help but think of the Captain of her dreams rather than see the Steve sitting at the table in front of her. Germany began to make sense. It was where they first met. Where it had all began. Had the Captain not been so unwilling to kneel, so willing to fight her, she didn't think that she would find him so interesting now. She didn't think that she would find him to be worthy of her time. He was a challenge with multiple layers, all complex in and of themselves. She wanted to meet and exceed that challenge.

"Onheil? Hello?" Loki blinked herself back to reality.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if you enjoyed yourself yesterday?"

Loki smiled, "Yes, Steven, I did. Very much."

***

Steve noticed three things over the course of the summer, over the span of his ever-changing and wholly odd friendship with Onheil. First, she called him Steven when she was particularly pleased. Second, she called him Captain when he'd done or said something that annoyed or perplexed her. Third, she was prone to becoming lost in thought and he was dying to know what was going on inside her head.

"Would you like to do something tonight?" Steve knew he was pushing it. Onheil rarely agreed to any activities to closely together. He felt like she was keeping him at arms length in that way. Close enough to touch, but not fully embrace. He was reasonably surprised when she responded in the affirmative. Steve laughed as he sipped his coffee and she asked what he had planned. "To be honest, I don't have a plan. I didn't think you'd say yes."

"I'll give you time to think then." Onheil laughed and moved off in her graceful, dancing stride to clear a table that had just been vacated. It took a while for Onheil to return to him, everyone seemed to be deciding to get up and leave at once. When she did, she sat down in the seat across from him.

"I'm taking my fifteen. Matthew can handle serving for a while." The shop was mostly empty for the moment. Steve was glad for it. "So, did you decide what we're doing?" Steve gulped down the last of the cooling liquid in his mug and nodded.

"Would you like to see a movie? You could come over. I'll pop some popcorn. We could watch a DVD or pick something from Netflix." Steve was still surprised at how easily he could suggest those things. He had been a cinephile before the ice, before the war. That hadn't changed. The theaters had though. Now, instead of narrow, velvet covered seats and smallish screens there were recliners and cup-holders and huge projections. The cost of an evening at the movies appalled him. One ticket could be twenty dollars depending on what theater you went into. Things like DVDs and streaming were amazing. There wasn't even television in his former life. It cost less. You could make it more personal.

To Steve's surprise, Onheil readily agreed. It wasn't lost on him that the last and only time she was in his home was the night he brought her home from Tonic. She said she was working a double and that she would change her clothes and go over to his building after work.

"I hope you're not working extra because of yesterday?" What she'd said to him that day, about not being able to afford to lose a day's pay, had stuck with him.

"No, I'm not. I took the extra shift of my own free will." She shook her head at him and pulled his sketchbook out of his messenger bag on the bench beside him.

***

Loki noticed Steve's sketchbook sticking out of his open messenger bag beside him. "No, I'm not. I took the extra shift of my own free will." She shook her head and plucked the book from the bag, wanting to see his latest work. Steve's eyes went wide and he made a grab for the spiral-bound book. Loki hugged it to her chest, she knew he'd be unwilling to risk touching her in a way he'd think inappropriate to reclaim it. "Calm yourself. It's not like I haven't seen half of this book already. You draw most of them here or at the park with me."

Loki began to flip through the book. Most of the pieces were familiar, either things that she'd watched him draw or things that she knew he'd redrawn from earlier attempts he was unhappy with. Steve's leg began to jiggle under the table. He wouldn't meet her eyes when she looked at him. "You're going to knock the table over." He froze. She thought she liked the nervous jiggling better than the frightened deer type look that he was giving her now.

She flipped closer to the end and slowed the rate she was turning the pages when she reached pieces that she had not seen before, "Oh." There she was, looking back at herself from the page in front of her. She turned to the next and there she was again. Again. Finally, she was in full color. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, high on the back of her head with the ends curling over one shoulder. Her maroon apron allowed the top and shoulders of her white tee shirt--Steve's white tee shirt--to be seen, the sleeves folded neatly to expose more of her arms. One hand was on her hip and the other was tucked into the pocket of her apron, her fingers splayed through a bundle of straws. She was smiling.

Loki closed the sketchbook and slid it back toward Steve across the table. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Steve's ears and cheeks turned pink. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly unable to find words.

"Is that really how you see me?"

"Yes." His voice was small and choked.

"I'll be over after closing, Steven."

***

Steve wasn't sure how to respond, so he didn't. He just put his hand on his sketchbook, protectively. His heart was thundering in his chest. He could feel his cheeks and ears burning and knew he was blushing with embarrassment like a complete fool. He'd expected her to be put off. Their relationship constantly seemed on the verge of something and he was never sure if it was something more or something that would crush him. Right now, he was sure it was something that would crush him. Her trust had been so hard to truly come by. It had taken her what seemed to be an agonizing period of time to open up to him and tell her the very little about herself that she had. He couldn't blame her. He hadn't made the best impression on her to begin with, hadn't given her any real reason to trust him.

Onheil stood and left him. Her fifteen wasn't over and he watched as she returned to work anyway.

But she would be over after closing. She had called him Steven. Maybe it was something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that felt rough. I hope everyone enjoyed it, regardless.
> 
> Thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	22. Hush...Hush, Captain Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki share an evening.

Steve spent the afternoon in a nervous frenzy. He felt like his already tidy living space could be made tidier. He made his bed, folding severe hospital corners. He cleaned the few dishes in the sink. He took his laundry to the washroom downstairs and folded it all into perfect squares and put it away in his drawers even though Onheil would never see it. And then he sat. He stared at the TV, not focusing on it, not really hearing the news reports. He opened the cabinet beside it and went through his entire movie collection. Nothing seemed right.

The problem, Steve felt, was that he didn't know what kind of movies Onheil liked. He couldn't ever recall her speaking about a genre she enjoyed or going to a movie or watching one on TV. He couldn't even recall her speaking about TV period. He found himself wondering if she owned one at all. He finally settled on a short stack of choices, _Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte_ sitting on the top of the pile.

The movie wasn't from his time. It hadn't come out until he was already under the ice for around two decades. The star was from his time, though. He could remember the first time he sat in a theater and watched Bette Davis in _The Man Who Played God_. She was good, but not as good as she would be in _Of Human Bondage_. He still felt she'd been robbed when she didn't win an Oscar for the performance. He supposed her wins for _Dangerous_ and _Jezebel_ made up for it.

Steve was still thinking about Bette Davis and her haunting eyes when the buzzer startled him back into reality. He stood and went to the intercom and asked who was there? "Your worst nightmare," came the response. Steve chuckled and pressed the button that would allow Onheil inside the building before ducking into the bathroom quickly.

Steve startled to three sharp raps on his door followed by _"Steve!"_ It happened twice more as he practically tripped over himself to get to the door and open it. Onheil stood on the opposite side, a pizza box propped against her hip, grinning at him like the cat that ate the canary. "Geeze, Onheil, I thought something happened." She slipped by him when he stood aside. "Your fly is open."

"What?" Steve looked at her, confused.

"Your fly." She put the box down on the coffee table and started to slip the tote she was carrying off of her shoulder. It made a clunking sound as it hit the tabletop. "It's open."

Realization dawned on Steve and his face flushed with embarrassment. He was always saying or doing something completely stupid in front of her. Always blushing for some reason or another. He turned around and closed the offending zipper. "That was quite a lovely shade of red." Steve wasn't sure if she meant his face or his underwear. He didn't ask.

"You didn't have to bring anything, you know. I could have ordered."

Onheil shrugged. She was hungry, she'd ordered it while she was getting changed from work and walked over after it had been delivered. "There may or may not be a slice missing." She turned her eyes on him and sat. They were wide and innocent as she batted her lashes. She broke into a smile and stuck her hands into the tote she'd put down, pulling something bundled in cloth out of it into her lap. Steve was instructed to close his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was staring at himself three times over. They were small paintings, the canvases were square and hardly larger than a foot square each. They reminded him of van Gogh in style, the figures and backgrounds formed from precisely imprecise splashes of color.

The first was of Captain America. The perspective was from a lower angle. Though his lower body wasn't in the image, his pose seemed to be on bended knee. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes were focused and determined as they looked at some foe standing above him. One arm was extended slightly behind him, the backside of his shield with the straps around his arm visible. The background was composed of blacks and greys and a smattering of small points of yellow suggesting the night sky.

The second was Steve, but not. He was pictured from the lower-chest up. The highlights suggested that Captain Rogers' medals and trappings were polished to gleaming on the front of his Class A's. Even in it's roughness, the likeness was precise. All of the insignia were in the correct places, the double silver bars of his rank visible on his shoulder. His stance was forward, shoulders squared, hands apparently behind his back; however, his eyes were shifted to the side. He looked stoic but sad. The background was warm in reds and oranges and yellows like the sky just as the sun truly began to set.

The final painting was Steve, really him. He leaned back in a chair, one arm up with his fingers splayed through artfully mussed hair. The other hand rested on his raised knee, the ankle probably resting against the opposite one just below the edge of the canvas. His jaw was set and hard, but his eyes seemed hopeful as he looked directly at the viewer from his home on the taut fabric. He seemed younger than the painted Captain Rogers. The background was a riot of green and blue strokes.

Steve pointed to the middle painting, "When was this?" He knew he'd never been with Onheil while dressed like that. "Memorial Day. I saw you walking to the subway. I didn't do these until more recently, though." Steve nodded. He stood there quietly, dozens of thoughts rolling through his mind and screaming for attention and voice.

"Is this really how you see me?"

Onheil nodded, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's truth. All of it. You're all of them and none of them. Like your God. A Trinity. Three persons in one. Separate and inseparable." Steve frowned. He understood what she meant, but it still felt like blasphemy. He knew she didn't have any particular beliefs, didn't attend a church, but he didn't like it when she was so casual.

Steve could feel Onheil's eyes on him as he stood there for a long moment, quietly studying each portrait in turn. The art said a million and one things and he wasn't sure if it was just what he wanted it to say or if it was truly the artist's intention. A loud growl from Onheil's stomach broke the silence before it grew uncomfortable.

"Sorry," she whispered. He finally looked at her and smiled.

"Don't be. You said you were hungry. Let's eat."

Onheil took the paintings, carefully wrapped them back in the cloth they had been in before, and leaned them against the side of the couch out of the way. They felt less powerful when they were out of sight. He realized he'd felt slightly naked as he looked at them. Steve went into the kitchen and retrieved paper plates and two bottles of a lager from the Brooklyn Brewery. As they ate, he corrected her technique for what felt like the thousandth time. 

"I don't understand how one can eat a slice of pizza incorrectly."

"You can and you are."

"No matter how I hold it, the end result is the same: Take a bite, chew, and swallow."

"It tastes better if you hold it correctly."

"It tastes the same, Captain, darling."

***

Steve turned the full force of his crystal-clear blue eyes on Loki as she took a bite of pizza, determined to continue holding it the way she wanted. "What?" she asked through a half-full mouth.

"You called me 'darling'."

Loki swallowed hard, choking slightly and taking a sip from her bottle to wash it down. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You said, 'It tastes the same, Captain, _darling_.' You said it."

Steve was grinning from ear to ear, the pizza in his hand drooped slightly and a glistening drop of grease fell with an audible splat onto the plate. "You must have misheard. You do that a lot. I think you need a hearing aid."

Steve shook his head. "Captain, darling." The grin persisted as he took a bite and spoke after he'd swallowed, "I like it." The crinkles at the edges of his eyes were just so damned endearing. It was practically sickening.

Loki felt her face flush red with embarrassment. She constantly felt like she was blushing like a fool around Steve. She wasn't young and in the throes of first love. She couldn't understand why he made her so flustered. The man was physically attractive. He was sweet and attentive. But he was still Captain America. Still a threat. She needed to control herself.

Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies aside from the pizza and beer. She found she enjoyed the sensation. She would control herself tomorrow.

***

Steve couldn't help but feel like he'd won some small victory when Onheil took on a slightly panicked look and tried to change the subject. She reached across the table and picked up the stack of DVDs he'd set aside earlier. "Are we watching all of these?"

"No, we'd be here until sunrise."

"I wouldn't mind that."

Steve smiled, "Pick one."

"I haven't seen any of these, or heard of any of them, to be honest."

***

Loki knew what movies were. She knew what the rectangular boxes were and what was inside. She'd checked enough of them out to patrons at the library. She'd even watched a few on the small television back at her apartment. She saw no need to pay for cable when she had no interest in it. She could find out what was going on in the world easily enough by using the computers at the library or reading one of the hundreds of newspapers available in the city. The technology did impress her, though, even if minimally. There was nothing like it on Asgard. 

Acting and art and music weren't exactly trades of choice in the warrior society, either. Scholarship was practically unheard of--wisdom was gained through experience and war. Even her magic wasn't exactly a favorable ability. It inspired awe and fear if used with that intent, but people seemed to only truly appreciate displays of brute force. Perhaps that was another reason she did enjoy living as a woman when she chose to. There were no displays of force required. She could simply be herself and play her tricks and read her books and make her art. The near non-existent expectations of others seemed to be less troublesome. She wasn't like Sif.

She studied the cover of the movie that had been sitting on top. It pictured two women who looked like sisters. The elder looked as though she may have been beautiful at some point with her large, expressive eyes. "This one."

***

"You sure?" Steve knew the movie was a murder mystery. It was a bit gory by any standards, but he'd thought Onheil would like the suspense. She nodded. He took the stack from her and went to put the DVD into the player. "Ah, forgot the popcorn." Onheil helped him to clear the coffee table of the remnants of their dinner and followed him to the kitchen. He passed her two more bottles from the fridge and a large bowl and put a bag of popcorn into the microwave. When he returned to the living room, shaking the bag to let out some of the steam before he opened it, Onheil was awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position on one end of the couch. She kept going to tuck her legs up underneath herself and then stopping and putting them back down.

Steve poured the popcorn out into the bowl on the table as he laughed, "You can take your shoes off, you know."

"I didn't want to be rude."

"I want you to be comfortable." He flattened the bag and left it on the table when it was empty. "You can't enjoy a movie if you're not comfortable." Steve knelt down in front of Onheil and began to unlace her boots.

"You're kneeling."

"Uh huh." He put his hand around her calf and lifted her leg to slide her shoe off, repeating it with the other.

Steve went to the wall opposite and turned out the lights, the glow of the television illuminating his way back to the couch. He picked up the remote and pressed play. Onheil's eyebrows went up when the opening titles started to play.

_Chop, chop, sweet Charlotte. Chop, chop till he's dead. Chop chop, sweet Charlotte. Chop off his hand and head. To meet your lover you ran, chop, chop. Now everyone understands just why you went to meet your love, chop, chop, to chop off his head and hand._

Her eyebrows didn't go down until the final credits rolled.

"Did you like it?" Steve looked down at the woman who had nestled into his side, his arm around her shoulder. He didn't even remember when she'd done it. At some point between the titles the point that it had become clear that Charlotte had murdered her lover, Onheil had shifted from the opposite side of the couch. He'd marveled over the way that she fit so easily and perfectly into his side, under his arm with her chest rising and falling in time with his own. One of his legs was up on the couch, trapped behind her. It had fallen asleep, but he didn't think he cared. It could fall off completely and he didn't think he would have the will-power to move from that position and disturb the easy serenity between he and Onheil.

She shifted slightly to look up at him. "I didn't think you'd enjoy that kind of story."

"I like all kinds of stories. Bette Davis--Charlotte--was one of the greats." He paused and frowned, "It was too gory, wasn't it?"

Onheil shook her head, "No, it was shocking...exciting. It was good. Was that from..." She trailed off, sounding unsure. Steve shook his head. He explained that Ms. Davis was popular before he went to war, but this movie was from well after. "Your parents were probably young when this came out."

They passed another hour together on the couch, sipping the last of their lagers and chatting. Eventually, Onheil yawned and looked at the clock. It was late, Steve had to report to SHIELD early the next morning himself. "C'mon, I'll walk you home." Onheil nodded and put her boots back on while Steve cleared the table again. She picked up her tote and followed him to the door. The paintings were still leaning against the side of the couch. "Keep them, Steven."

They walked up to Onheil's building in comfortable silence. Steve followed her to the front door and waited on the step below while she searched for her keys. She turned to him after she'd unlocked and opened the door. "I had a wonderful evening...Captain, darling." She didn't wait for a response before she stepped into the yellowish glow of the lobby and mounted the stairs.

When Steve got back to his own apartment, he picked up the series of portraits and unwrapped them again. He laid them out on the coffee table in the order than Onheil had. This was how she saw him. A trinity. Three persons in one. Separate but inseparable.

Steve readied himself for bed and as he settled under his comforter he decided that today felt like it was definitely teetering on the edge of something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special shout-out has to go to DrCHolmesLecter, who gave me the idea for "Captain, darling." I hope it turned out as adorable and fluffy as you imagined!
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback! I'm absolutely astounded, at the time of this posting the story has 1953 hits. Thank you all so much, I truly hope you're enjoying it!


	23. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD attempts to identify a potential threat.

Steve sat in a large conference room at SHIELD early Monday morning. The Avengers and Coulson's new team sat around the table with him while Coulson stood at the head, remote in hand. "We just got this footage from NYPD. It's not the greatest." The agent hit play.

The video was of a subway platform. There appeared to be a group of children picking on a smaller child. No one else on the platform was intervening. "Are we planning on foiling the plans of a network of schoolyard bullies?" Tony made an offended face when Coulson shot him a dirty look and shushed him. The child being picked on was teetering dangerously close to the edge of the platform. The lights from an approaching train were just visible at the edge of the frame. Suddenly, a cloud of green-tinged gold light burst through the lower section of the frame. The aggressors were pushed back and the victim was pushed forward away from the edge. The video became grainy after that, but not grainy enough that a pair of trembling, pale hands couldn't be seen at the very edge of the frame before it cut out completely.

"Do we have footage from another angle?" Clint leaned back and put his feet up on the edge of the table as he spoke. Natasha pushed them off. He scowled and crossed his arms instead.

"Unfortunately, no. Most of the cameras were down for maintenance at the time. We're lucky we have this footage."

"Clearly, whatever that was came from whoever's hands those were at the end." Tony rolled his eyes as the imposing looking man from Coulson's team sitting across the table spoke.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." The man glared hard at Tony. Bruce put his hand on his fellow Avenger's forearm as he took a deep breath, ready to say something snarky. Everyone looked to Fitz-Simmons as they stood, tablets in hand.

"We've reviewed the footage frame by frame--"

"We think that whatever that light is--"

"May be a purposeful manipulation of potential energy--"

"Stored in the atmosphere."

"Perhaps on an elemental level."

"Certainly at least at the atomic."

"Maybe nuclear."

As the young scientists spoke, they thumbed their tablets and made things appear on the screen to illustrate their point. Most of it was lost on everyone save for Stark and Banner.

"But what we feel is most probable--"

"Though highly illogical--"

"Knowing that persons with the x-gene exist--"

"And having been able to consult briefly with Professor Xavier--" Fitz-Simmons grinned here.

"We believe that what you see in the footage may be--" A short, looped video clip of a woman with red hair played. She seemed to be using her mind to blast through a wall by staring at it. Energy rolled off of her in shimmery ripples.

"A physical manifestation of telekinetic abilities."

"You've _got_ to be kidding me." Clint shook his head in disbelief. The way the two spoke exhausted him.

Steve shrugged. "Its not like their theory is entirely impossible. We've all seen footage at some point of the X-Men in action. I've fought against Magneto and with Wolverine."

"So what are we all doing here, Philly?" Tony propped his elbows on the table and tucked his fists under his chin in mock interest. "Are the Avengers taking this one or your new guys? Have I mentioned how abandoned I feel? You just up and left us. You orphaned us!"

"Tony, please..." Banner pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can you just be professional for two minutes?"

Fury stepped into the room carrying a file folder and Fitz-Simmons finally sat. "We don't know who is taking the mission yet. We don't know who or what this is. The x-gene theory is a start. We need to figure out where to go from there." He went on to explain that he had agents searching security footage from other train stations along the route to try to find out who got on the train at that station and where they got off. "Captain Rogers, your familarity with Wolverine may come in handy if we need to explore the avenue further. Fitz-Simmons has spoken some with Charles Xavier, but we might need some soldier-to-soldier interface going on--some non-science perspective." Steve nodded and rose with the rest of the group when they were all dismissed. "Have a seat, Captain."

Steve lowered himself back into his chair, "Can I help you with something, Sir?"

"You can tell me what's going on with your little girlfriend."

"What are you talking about?"

"Onheil Ferguson. A ghost, according to Agent Romanoff."

Steve clenched and un-clenched his fists under the table. He'd asked Natasha to leave it alone. _Begged_ her just to let him move on. But when it became clear that he and Onheil had become friends, were apparently on the fast track to becoming more than that, she'd stopped making eye contact with him. He knew she'd been up to something. He didn't think that she would take her theories as far as Fury. It just seemed unnecessary.

"You were told to stand down, weren't you, Captain? By Cooper, by your team. And you continued to pursue this woman." Steve set his jaw and said that it was quite frankly none of Fury's business. He was allowed to have a personal life. "You're not allowed to have a personal life that will compromise your value to this agency." Steve snorted in derision.

"What I'm concerned most about, is the flagrant display that the two of you are putting on." Fury paused and crossed to Steve's side of the table. The director stood behind Steve's chair, looming over him. "Do you know how many tabloids and photographers we've had to pay off to keep you out of news stands and blogs?" The file folder Fury had been holding this whole time landed with a slap on the shiny table. Large, glossy photos slid out of the folder and spread out over the table.

Steve picked a few of them up and looked at them. There was he and Onheil in Central Park. In Times Square. Through the window at a restaurant. In every one they were touching in some way, being affectionate. Each one was a time capsule of some intimate moment. It hadn't occurred to Steve how uninhibited their relationship had gotten. He felt like he'd been stalked, violated. "At least one of you seems to be aware of the cameras." Fury indicated Onheil's face in a few pictures. She always seemed to look down, her face shielded by her hair; to turn toward Steve, only the back of her head visible; to put her hand up to her face; to turn quickly and produce a blur. Steve had stopped noticing paparazzi since he became an Avenger. He'd become an overnight celebrity. They still bothered him, but he noticed them less, especially since many of them had begun using their phones or tablets rather than big cameras. "She's not aware all of the time, though." Fury leafed through the photos to one at the bottom of the pile. There was Onheil on her own in crisp clarity from the boots on her feet to the black umbrella with the green polka-dots over her head.

"I don't know whether this is more dangerous for you or for her."

"We're just friends."

"I really don't care. Your enemies probably wouldn't either. How many times did Green Goblin kidnap that Watson girl even though she was _just friends_ with Bugboy?"

"What am I supposed to do? I'm not going to end a friendship because people take pictures of me. I'm not going to live in fear that some enemy of SHIELD may or may not harm her, I'm not going to let her live in fear either. I can't afford to not live in the world."

Fury ignored Steve and continued to talk. "Cooper is under the impression that in spite of your little obsession, this woman has been good for you. He says that your episodes have decreased, you're sleeping better. Don't think I haven't noticed your reports coming out more quickly than usual." Steve was mortified. He always forgot that his therapist was reporting back to SHEILD. To be honest, he hadn't thought Onheil was a subject that the agency would be interested in, either. "So, I'm not telling you to end it. I'm telling you that you need to give all these people," Fury indicated the photos, "something _else_ to be interested in."

"There's going to be a story on Channel Two about a company that provides therapy dogs to veterans with PTSD. You're going to be there. You're going to make nice and take photos. You're going to listen to war stories. You're going to sit in on a group therapy session. You're going to pet some puppies and kiss some babies." Steve's entire body visibly tensed. "You're going to give them _something_ to report about that's more interesting than your girlfriend." Steve knew exactly what Fury was getting at.

"You're crossing a line, Director."

"I will cross whatever damn line I want to, Captain."

"My therapy and diagnosis are private."

"Your therapy and diagnosis are property of SHIELD."

Fury walked out of the room, his boots making sharp sounds on the polished floor as he went. He left Steve sitting there staring at the photos spread out in front of him on the table.

Steve sat there, staring down at the photographs on the table and not really looking at them for what felt like an eternity. He was trying to control his breathing, silently going through exercises his therapist had suggested and made him go through in the office time and time again. In his head he was screaming. He was afraid if he made any attempt to move that the scream would leave his head and rip through his tightly sealed lips. He was afraid if he started that he wouldn't be able to stop.

Steve was vaguely aware of someone coming into the room and sitting down at the table beside him. "Hey, we're ordering lunch, do you want--Whoah. Capsicle. You in suspended animation again?" Steve didn't answer. He just continued to stare hard at the photographs, his fists clenched and his knuckles white. "Captain?" Tony's hand hovered over Steve's forearm for a moment and then retreated. "Steve? You okay?" Steve was not okay. He was thinking about Onheil. Thinking about some unseen enemy stealing her away. Thinking about veterans and dogs and therapy and war. Thinking about Natasha betraying his trust, not leaving it alone. Thinking about Dr. Cooper telling all of his innermost thoughts to Fury over beers after a day at the office. Thinking about everything. Thinking about nothing. The screaming in his head refused to stop. Steve shook his head once, sharply. Tony seemed to notice the photographs for the first time since entering the room. He picked up the only clear one of Onheil. "Is this..." He didn't need to finish. Steve nodded once. "Well, no wonder you won't bring her home to meet the family. A girl like that? Clearly, she'd find me much more attractive." Tony chuckled weakly at his own joke. He moved the photos around, looking at a few. "This is kind of...Sick." Steve made a choked sound. "You wanna go to the Tower? Destroy some bags?" He finally looked at Tony.

"Yes."

*** 

Loki sat in the Captain's apartment Monday evening. Steve had called her and asked her to meet him. He'd been on his way back to Brooklyn from Stark's building on Manhattan. He had told her about photographs of the two of them, of her, that he'd been shown at SHIELD earlier that day. She hoped the utter panic that she felt on the inside wasn't showing on her face. All she needed was for Thor to see a single one of those photographs. Her brother would recognize her. Her brother would drag her back to Asgard, chained and muzzled. She'd be thrown in a cell. She'd be left to rot in life the same way she'd been left to rot when thought dead.

Steve sounded so defeated, broken. His knuckles were purpled. It looked as if he'd been punching a brick wall instead of a leather bag full of sand. He seemed to finally exhaust himself with pacing and sat down hard on the couch, melting into the cushions. "I don't know what to tell you, Steve. I noticed when we were being watched, yes, but I thought it just went with the territory of being acquainted with someone such as yourself." She chewed her bottom lip for a moment, deciding what exactly she wanted to say. "I looked away when I could, when I noticed, because...because I can't let them find me. I can't go back."

***

Steve let his mind latch onto the convenient distraction Onheil had provided. "You're always saying that. You're always making me promise not to make you go back. Saying that they don't understand. You never tell me what you don't want to go back to; who doesn't understand; what they don't understand." He gave her a hard look. "I can't keep making promises if you don't tell me what I'm supposed to be protecting you from."

"My...my family."

"Why?"

Steve had gotten few actual details out of Onheil over the course of the summer. He'd made himself an open book to her, but her pages were still bound shut. She talked about her mother occasionally; her brother rarely; her father never. She'd made vague references to the fact that she didn't have the best relationship with them, her mother a narrow exception. She spoke about her life in general terms, never relating anything truly specific.

Onheil was looking at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Please, don't do this." Her voice was a barely audible whisper.

"Is Onheil Ferguson your real name?"

She shook her head and looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Was your mother Dutch?"

Another shake.

"What did they do to you?"

No answer. Only tears.

Steve felt all of the aggression and anger and frustration he'd had writhing inside of him all day drain away. He drew Onheil into his arms and held her closely. She gripped the front of his shirt and buried her face into the crook of his neck. "You don't have to tell me." Natasha's inability to find anything on Onheil was beginning to make sense.

Onheil's body shook with silent sobs. He felt her tears slick against his skin. She sucked in air like she'd been drowning and hiccuped. When she seemed to run out of tears she sniffed loudly and loosened her grip on the front of his shirt. Steve stroked her hair and rubbed her back, trying to comfort her even though he didn't know what to say.

His stomach growled loudly.

Onheil looked up at him and laughed softly, sadly. "Well, that was a gripping opinion on the situation." Steve smiled sheepishly and said that he was sorry. He wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for his stomach or for everything that was unsaid between them. She didn't ask him for clarification. She nodded and slowly extricated herself from his arms. "Chinese?" Steve went to retrieve the menu from where it was on the fridge without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to post this, but I knew I wasn't going to work on it any more, really. I haven't formulated exactly how I want to approach Steve's mini-episode and if/how he's going to discuss it with Onheil.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and giving such great feedback and I hope you're enjoying it.


	24. Going Public

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does Fury's bidding.

Loki and Steve sat in tense silence while they waited for the delivery to arrive. When Steve came back up the stairs and into the apartment with the bag, it lessened. He seemed relaxed by the smell and warmth of the food in the white container in his hands. Loki was afraid to speak. She didn't know what the Captain would ask of her, if he would pry. She didn't know if she could tell him anything, if she wanted to tell him anything. She didn't want to be Liesmith right now. She just wanted to feel safe.  
  
When Steve finished eating, she helped him clear the table in the kitchen and put left overs into the fridge. "There's something more, no?" Steve looked confused. "You can't be this upset over some photographs. It was certainly an invasion of your privacy--"  
" _Our_ privacy."  
Loki nodded, "Okay. Our privacy. But that can't be what has you so agitated."  
  
Steve sighed heavily and sat down at the kitchen table again, his face in his hands. Loki sat beside him, tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. Steve told her what Fury was making him do. He seemed to gloss over the details, but she didn't want to pry or set him off. He could be frightening at times.  
  
"I," Steve started and stopped. He finally picked his head up. "I don't want to do it. I don't want people to know."  
  
"I think more people know than you realize." Steve looked at her with panic in his eyes. He always appeared so young and lost when he got this way. It made her want to protect him. Protect him since she could not protect Frigga, protect herself. "The people who know Steven, at least." She squeezed his shoulder gently and the tension there eased slightly. "Maybe those who know Captain Rogers."  
  
Steve looked back down at the tabletop. His ears and cheeks pinkened with apparent shame. "Your condition is nothing abnormal. You don't need to broadcast it...but you most certainly don't have to keep that part of you hidden, either. Look at this as a chance to try and marry the image of Captain America with the person who wears the costume."  
  
Steve looked her dead in the eye. Loki imagined she could hear things clicking into place in his head. "These men you're going to see, they're not hiding. They're letting the world see what war has done to them. They're trying to keep on living. Showing people...perhaps it will help someone else. Isn't that what you keep telling me? You help people. Its your job, what you do."  
  
Steve pulled her into a firm hug, his lips were mashed against her ear. "What did I do without you for ninety years?" he whispered.  
  
Loki smiled and tentatively put her arms around him. "I don't know, Captain, darling. I don't know."

They stayed that way for a long moment. Loki wasn't sure if she should pull away or not. As she was beginning to think that Steve would never release her, he did. "Stay the night." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Please?" His voice sounded small and helpless.

Loki sighed, "Fine. If it will help you relax." It would. Steve would sleep on the couch. "You will do no such thing. You need to be well rested for tomorrow." He protested. He'd been used to sleeping on narrow cots and hard earth at one point. Loki put a hand up to stop him. "You will sleep in your bed. I will sleep on the couch." She rose from the table to punctuate her statement. "Now pick a movie for us to watch. I'm going to run home and get a change of clothes for the morning." Steve smiled, genuinely. It made Loki's heart ache.

***

Onheil returned shortly. Steve buzzed her up and lingered in his open doorway, feeling comforted when the top of her head became visible coming up the stairs and elated when she flashed a smile at him. When she reached the second floor landing she popped one hip out to the side, placed her hand on it, and the other on her head. Steve couldn't help but laugh.

"Hey. Those look familiar." Onheil had changed her clothes into something more suitable for sleeping. Even in the heat of August, the evenings were cool. She was dressed almost the same way she had been that morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, when he'd thought his world would end. His sweatpants were slung low on her hips, the bottom hem tucked into her boots. There was a sliver of exposed skin between the waistband and the green tank she was wearing. Her leather jacket completed the look. Steve found himself wanting to take the jacket off of her right there. To put his hands and his lips and his tongue onto that glorious, pale slice of skin. To feel the heels of those boots pressed into his behind and the backs of his thighs while those legs were wrapped around him, her behind in his hands. She shrugged, "Are you going to invite me back in or are we going to spend the night in the hall?"

Steve gulped hard and stood aside. He had a fleeting suspicion that nothing about Onheil's appearance was anything less than purposeful. "So, what are we watching?"

Steve had felt that something light and funny would be most appropriate. "A cartoon?"

"Mhmm."

"You're sure?"

"If you don't love Minions, you're not human."

They passed the rest of the evening on the couch. Steve couldn't help but fall just a little bit more in love each time Onheil giggled or snorted trying to hold back a giggle. He also couldn't help bit sneak glances toward the cream colored cleavage, teasingly exposed just so while she curled her body against him and allowed him to put his arm around her.

It was late when the movie ended. "Did you like it?"

"I loved it. I suppose I am more human than I thought, after all."

Steve rose and went to his bedroom to retrieve an extra pillow from the closet. She took it from him and put it down on the couch. Steve lingered. "To bed with you!" He snapped his body straight and put his hand up in salute, "Yes, ma'am!" He grinned and she giggled. His smile fell.

"I want you there with me."

"I can't. I have to work. And I don't think your boss will like it."

"I don't care what Fury likes. I care what I like, and I like you."

Onheil smiled. "I like you too. Now go to bed, Steve."

"But--"

"No buts!

Steve turned around and looked at Onheil over his shoulder, "There's a butt."

Onheil pinched the bridge of her nose and made a frustrated sound. "And a lovely butt, it is. Now, please, go to bed. You need sleep. I need sleep."

"I'm sorry. I'm stalling. I just...I really don't want to do this thing tomorrow." He turned back toward her.

"There are many things in this life that we don't want to do. But we do them anyway, because, sometimes, its not about just us. Its about the bigger picture." She sounded weary, like she spoke from experience. "Now, _go_." She pointed toward the short, dark hall to his bedroom. Resigned, he went.

***

Loki woke in the moments before sunrise. She had slept lightly, acutely aware of Steve down the hall. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, not feeling like she'd truly rested. She felt it odd that Steve wasn't awake. She knew his schedule like the back of her hand. Concerned, she crept down the hall and peeked into his room.

Still in bed, and snoring lightly, he was bare-chested and glorious in the first rays of sunlight. She stood there watching him for a moment, wanting nothing more than to put her hands, her lips, her tongue all over that beautiful, lightly tanned skin.

Steve groaned and flopped onto his stomach, smacking the top of the alarm clock that had started to sound. "Nope." Loki pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh. She waited a moment before edging into the room as quietly as she could.

"Steven." She called softly.

"Mmm."

"Steeeeve."

"Mmm."

"Captain, darling."

A short, muffled laugh. Loki's eyes slid around the room as she approached the bed. She very seriously considered pouncing on it. She could remember waking her brothers much the same way as a child. Her eyes fell onto a copy of TIME on the nightstand. She picked it up.

"Steve!" _Thwack._ The magazine smacked sharply against the swell of muscle in the back of the Captain's soft pajama pants.

"Noo," he whined and swatted blindly behind himself.

"Up!"

"No."

"You have to. You have to go on your run. Every morning, you go for a run. Then you get a cup of coffee."

"I just want to sleep in."

Loki mimicked Steve's voice. "Repetition and medication."

Steve turned over and glared at her.

"Today, of all days, is not the one to screw around with your routine. You know its going to be difficult, so start it right." He made a frustrated sound at her and put his arm over his face.

"I don't want to do this."

"You have to. Your boss--"

"Fuck Fury."

"Steven Rogers, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" He was constantly scolding her for her language in the same way. It was endearing and irritating.

"Says the woman who swears like a sailor."

Loki tossed the magazine back onto the nightstand. "Steve, please. You have to get up." She thought for a moment. "I'll go with you." Steve moved his arm off of his face and looked at her hopefully. "Running, I mean."

***

Steve looked up at Onheil. Glorious Onheil with her alabaster skin glowing warmly in the orange glow of morning. He was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he had no shirt on. He tried to be casual. "Okay, then." He couldn't peel his eyes away from her. She was rumpled from sleep, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders. Steve let her have the bathroom first to get ready to go out while he put on shorts and a tee shirt himself.

"So what direction are we headed in?" Steve ran his eyes over her. She'd left the clothes she slept in on, the elastic band at the bottom of the sweatpants hiked up around her knees. Her hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail. Her collarbones and shoulders looked elegant even in the cotton tank. He'd insisted they at least go back to her apartment so she could get sneakers. She'd told him to stop stalling and pestering and leave her be, she could run well enough in her boots. She'd at least tied them all the way up without being prompted.

Steve kept a casual pace, continually glancing to his side to make sure that Onheil was still there. He was sure that at any moment he was going to wake up. He ripped his focus away from her and looked down at his fists as they pumped at his sides. The light bruising he'd given his knuckles punching things at Stark Tower had faded over night. He was glad for it, that wouldn't look good on camera.

"We can go faster, you know." Steve hesitated, she gave him a serious look. He picked up the pace. Onheil kept up with him easily. He was sure that she wasn't breaking a sweat yet, even with the early morning humidity. Steve kept pushing harder until he was eventually at his usual pace. She stayed beside him, looking forward with quiet focus.

Steve slowed to a jog again near the end of his usual route. "I still want you to come with me today."

Onheil glanced over at him, "You know I can't."

"But I want you to."

"You're very pushy this morning, _Captain_."

They slowed again to a walk as the coffee shop came into sight. "I can meet you afterward. I'll trade shifts with Matthew. I can't get anyone to cover for me at the library, though. I can get off around one."

It was something. As stubborn as Steve was, he understood that Onheil had a life outside of him. But at least he could look forward to seeing her afterward. If there was anything left of him.

***

Loki suffered quietly when she entered the coffee shop with Steve. The manager immediately started winking and nodding and grinning. She waved him away and poured Steve's usual from the pot into a paper cup and stuck a lid on. "I'm not sitting here with him like that. You can drink it at home." Steve chucked, clearly entertained by her discomfort.

"Where exactly is this thing today?"

"Some college. Near Lincoln Center."

"Fordham?"

"No," he thought for a moment. "John Jay? They have a big vet population, evidently."

"What's the address?" Steve rattled it off. "That's only eight blocks from the library." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "There's a bus stop on that corner. I'll meet you there when it's over."

***

Steve felt comforted knowing that Onheil was a short walk away. There was a SHIELD media liaison with him from the moment he left his apartment after Onheil had departed. He felt like he was being kept on a leash. He walked into the college and was ushered toward a presentation room. The chairs had been moved into a circle like at every support group session that he'd ever seen in any movie.

Steve moved toward the circle, he was the first one to arrive. There was some camera equipment already set up on one side of the room. He tried to select a seat that would put the lens at the greatest disadvantage possible. The liaison was saying something, Steve barely heard her. He was stuck on movies, knowing he was just trying to distract himself. He sang to himself under his breath.

"Will I lose my dignity? Will someone care? Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?"

"Captain."

Steve was vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder.

"Captain Rogers?"

"Sorry."

The liaison looked at him with a worried expression.

"What were you saying?"

She repeated herself. There would be a mixed group. The other people in it had met together before, but their usual spot was at a church. They would all be in unfamiliar territory. Steve found that the cheery yellow paint on the walls of the room agitated him. Why did they pick a room with such a stupid color? Some of the people would have their service dogs with them. The dogs had been provided by the company that the news piece was supposed to center around. They were Labradors. They were generally calm but he should still ask permission and approach slowly if he wished to. They were working dogs. He shouldn't get in anyone's face. He shouldn't approach anyone from behind, especially if they were distracted. He would sit through a short group session. He would participate. He would tell his story. He wasn't allowed to just sit back and listen per Director Fury's specific instructions. He would be given time to speak to each vet and whatever family accompanied them individually if they wished it. He would speak to anyone that approached him. He would answer all questions asked by the reporter--they'd been pre-screened and any ad-libbing would result in an immediate end to the interview. At least there was that.

A man in a crisp button down shirt and jeans approached Steve and held out his hand. He was the director of the group. "Captain Rogers, what I'd like you to understand, most importantly, is that a lot of the people you're going to meet today don't have the same advantages and opportunities as you do. For some of them, this group is the only therapy they're getting. But they're trying." Steve felt insulted. Did people think he wasn't aware of how lucky he was to have Dr. Cooper? To have gotten on the right medications? "A lot of them have lost their families and friends as a result of their behaviors, their baggage." Steve clenched and un-clenched his fists at his side. He felt stiff and uncomfortable in his Class A's in a way that he never had before. He tried to tell himself it was because he was in a coat in August. The air conditioning kicked in as he lied.

A group of eight people entered the room. Two had dogs with them. Three were women. They varied in age. Two gentlemen looked like they had fought the same war he did. Most of the men seemed to range in age from sixty to barely college-aged. The women were some of the younger members of the group.

Although clearly conscious of the camera that was rolling, each one told their story as calmly as possible. Most announced their name, rank, and where they'd served as an introduction. There were officers and enlisted men, Airmen and Marines and Infantry and Seamen. Some were looking forward to seeing their children and wives they'd separated from at Thanksgiving. Some were struggling to make their parents understand. Most wound up red-eyed if not teary. But they all seemed proud for one reason or another, even if it was just that they had managed to get out of bed that morning. "I haven't had a severe episode since I got Bernie." The man patted the dog at his feet affectionately. "It's like he knows. I'll start to panic and he'll come over and lick my hand or my face." The other man with a dog nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

It was Steve's turn. He felt so over dressed. The uniform had been a bad idea. Onheil had said he looked good. Smooth and professional and put together. Handsome. But here were all these people in street clothes and he just felt ridiculous. Like a performing monkey.

"Captain Steve Rogers. Europe, mostly Germany. World War II. I knocked out Hitler over two hundred times." Realization dawned on several faces.

"Captain America?"

Steve nodded and said a little bit about Erksine and the serum. "I helped free prisoners. One was my best friend. James Barnes. Bucky. I lost him in a mission. Then I lost myself. In the ocean, trying to keep a missile from hitting New York. Trying to keep a dangerous weapon out of dangerous hands." He smiled sadly. "I lost seventy years to ice. Everyone I knew or loved is dead. All because I didn't like bullies. I wanted to be in the Army. Some days, I think I should have given up that night. It was Bucky's last night in town. We went to Modern Marvels. There was a recruitment booth. That was where I met Erksine." Steve took a deep, shaky breath. "There was a long time, after they found me, that I just wanted to be left alone. Or to end it. But that would be a sin and my soul was all I had left that was worth anything." Steve talked a little bit about his anxiety issues. His insomnia. His panic attacks. "Once, I didn't leave the house for a week. I was on the Great Lawn, I'd barely made it home." He ticked off the number of months it had been since then on his fingers. "That was when they finally diagnosed me. It was my fault too, though. I wasn't very forthcomming with information to my therapist. I was too embarrassed. I was pushing everyone away. I've been on medication since then. I'm getting better. I still feel like I want to crawl in a foxhole and stay there some days. But I know that I have people that love me now." Onheil's smile rolled through his mind. "And I want to be here for them. I don't have a family or children. Reason says I should have died seventy years ago." He barked out a laugh. _No day but today._

When the session ended, the reporter who had been directing the camera man approached Steve. She was tearful.  "I...I'm not going to ask you any questions. I think we got all we needed. From everyone." She turned to the rest of the group. "Thank you all for being so honest. My...My brother is in Afghanistan right now. That's why I took this assignment." The other people in the room nodded knowingly and thanked her for being so accommodating.

One of the older gentlemen approached Steve, "Captain Rogers?"

"Yes?"

"I...I wanted to say thank you. I didn't think I'd ever have the chance. Not after we lost you. But here you are."

"You're welcome. I'm not sure what for, though."

"You rescued me."

"When?"

"I was in that first group. The HYDRA prisoners. I knew Bucky, before they started picking people to experiment on." Steve could remember the ramshackle laboratory that he'd found Bucky in, strapped to a gurney, as if it had happened ten minutes earlier. "He was a good man. Tried to protect the rest of us."

Steve smiled sadly. He told himself he wasn't going to cry. Nope. It wasn't happening. "He was. He was my best friend. My brother, even if it wasn't by blood. He died trying to protect me. He was always protecting me. I think that's what I feel the most guilty about. Here I was, the Super Solider, and I couldn't protect him." The man nodded, knowingly. "I still have a hard time getting on any train that isn't underground." Steve chuckled bitterly.

"Captain?"

"Steve."

"Steve. Can...Can I..." The man lifted his arms slightly. Steve took the cue. He embraced his fellow soldier, feeling like someone understood. He didn't notice the camera pointed at him on the other side of the room.

***

Loki called out from work at the library immediately when she got back to her apartment. She hadn't bothered to change out of the clothes that she'd slept and run in. She took the opportunity to shower and put herself together properly. Then she disappeared.

She took herself to just down the block from the Columbus Branch on 10th and 51st. She ducked into the shadows under the scaffolding outside the building and became someone knew. She chose a serving maid from the palace. It was a face she could wear that wouldn't be recognized. She walked casually up to the building on the corner of 59th and followed the film crew inside.

She saw Steve coming out of a room to the side of what appeared to be the main lobby. He was flanked by an official looking woman and an elderly man whom he seemed to be deep in conversation with. The two looked serious. Steve looked like someone had beat him up. He looked defeated. She pulled out the phone she had purchased only because Steve insisted on having her number. She hadn't wanted to explain that she didn't have one.

***

Steve's phone buzzed in his pocket. "Excuse me." He fished it out and looked at the screen, unfocused for a moment, while he was herded into a service elevator. They were all going to the gym for the next part of the day. As they walked, groups of students dodged them to get to class. They seemed used to having strange people in their space. The liaison had mentioned something about the school being a popular place to film for a lot of local television productions. "SVU is here all the time," she had said.

_"You okay?"_

_"Not really."_

_"You will be."_

_"Captain, darling :) "_

"Who's that?" The old vet asked him.

"A friend." The man waggled his wiry, caterpillar-ish eyebrows. Steve chuckled. "I wish."

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He petted dogs and kissed babies and shook hands and clapped shoulders. He met people from what seemed like every branch, rank and war in the past seventy years. He gave vague endorsements for the company and praised the value of the therapy dogs. He was careful around those that had them, remembering what the group leader had said about getting in faces and approaching from behind. He was glad that his issues hadn't manifested in such unpredictable and physical ways. He was afraid that was where he had been headed, though.

Steve was antsy while the reception went on. He hoped that no one noticed how many times he glanced at the clock. Finally, at nearly two, the liaison directed him back down the service elevator and out the door. "Do I need to go back to SHIELD?" No, he didn't. "Then I'll take the train home." He tried not to look at the bus stop across the street. He could see Onheil leaning against the shelter in his peripheral vision. "Did I satisfy Fury's demands?" Steve knew he was being rude, that this woman had nothing to do with any of it, but he was upset and he didn't care and he just wanted Onheil in his arms and his face in her hair.

"Yes, I wouldn't put it so bluntly, but I think you did." Steve nodded and started to move away from the liaison. "Captain?" He paused and turned back to her. "For what its worth, I think you did some good in there today. And I'm sorry you had to go though it."

"Thank you."

He began to cross the street, finally making eye contact with Onheil. He frowned when she started to walk away from him, up the block. His phone buzzed.

_"Cameras. Circle?"_

_"Ok."_

Steve followed at a casual distance behind. 

_"Lost them, I think."_

Onheil stopped just inside the Columbus Circle side entrance to Central Park and waited for Steve to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit that Steve sings to himself is "Will I" from RENT. The line about "Reason says..." is also a RENT reference to "Life Support".
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, guys! I hope everyone is enjoying it!


	25. Listening and Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Steve's whirlwind day.

They walked a little ways into the park before they found a free bench to sit on. Steve waited for Loki to sit before he unbuttoned his jacket sank down onto the wooden seat. Green paint flaked away as he shifted around. "I can't wait to get out of this thing." He adjusted the tie around his neck but did not loosen it. Loki felt guilty for having encouraged him to wear the uniform. He'd had the idea but hadn't been sure. He just looked so good in it. It didn't wear him, he wore it.

Loki listened quietly when Steve finally began to speak. He refused to meet her eye, even when she leaned and shifted to try to catch his eye. He told her about sitting through the session. About petting dogs and kissing babies and shaking hands and being embraced and how uncomfortable it had all made him. He told her about all of the men and women that he had met. There had been someone for practically every branch and every war. There had been _so many_ wars.

Steve told her about broken bodies and limbs blown away by roadside bombs. About lack of funds to obtain good artificial replacements. About years of physical therapy to try to repair the body to go along with the mental therapy to to repair the holes left by the pieces of mind and soul lost along with arms and legs. He told her about people watching their best friends and battle buddies bleed out from wounds too serious to properly care for. About people breathing in mustard gas and dying slowly and painfully from the ravages of pneumonia. 

Steve told her about men and women coming home and loosing their friends, their families, their support systems because the people they once were close with no longer knew how to relate to them because of their behaviors and baggage. They'd found themselves alone in a world they no longer knew how to live in. Steve had found kinship with them. "It's not like I can blame them all for moving on." Loki knew he was referring to the woman he had been in love with, his comrades, Howard Stark who had found the Tesseract but hadn't found him. "I was as good as dead. I couldn't expect them all to keep pining away for me. But I can't imagine what it would be like to come home and be a stranger to the people I loved. To watch them move on with their lives. Maybe it was a blessing that I spent all that time in the ice." He told her about people who found themselves anxious and violent with little control over their reactions and emotions. He told her about flashbacks and dark thoughts and downward spirals during which a car backfiring in the dead of night was a firefight on the streets of Baghdad that crippled grown men with fear.

Steve looked distant and broken. Loki had tried so hard to protect him. She had been with him the whole day, under the glamour of another woman's face. Bits of magic here and there compelled pushy journalist-looking types to leave him alone. Those who somehow found their way to him suddenly forgot what question they'd meant to ask. Cell phones and cameras mysteriously drained of battery life when permission was not asked for and explicitly granted for a photograph. Working dogs on high alert became docile when Steve wandered too close and he would find himself compelled only to approach their owners from the front. Nervous servicemen found themselves oddly calm in his presence. In her way, she wove a web of magic and protection around him. She couldn't protect him from the monsters in his head, but she could protect him from the ones in flesh and blood--whether they were real or perceived.

"The first World War was supposed to end all future ones. _My_ war should have been the end. There was so much death. So much evil. I didn't think that there was anything left. But then there was Korea and Vietnam and the Persian Gulf and Iraq and Afghanistan. There was almost Cuba and the Soviets. There was just so much more. It makes me angry. And sad. And hopeless. _What_ am I doing here? I can't fix any of this. But if they'd found me sooner..." He looked away and sucked in breath. Loki knew he was fighting back emotion and his eyes were rimmed with red when he looked forward again. "If they'd found me sooner, maybe I could have helped. If I hadn't gone under the water, in the ice. Maybe I could have done something that would have--I don't know--changed the course of history, kept all those men and women from being thrown into strange countries and trying to help toddlers with explosives in their diapers and maybe I could have prevented all of this." He gestured to the city around him. "Maybe two buildings that weren't even an idea when I was young would still be standing. Maybe my home wouldn't be broken. Maybe thousands of people wouldn't have died. I've read so many books. I've watched so many documentaries. I've tried so hard to catch up. But, none of it was the _truth._ None of it was what anyone really experienced. _Those people_ in that building, that's truth."

Steve put his face in his hands. His body trembled. Loki reached out and put her hand on his back, systematically smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket that the slats of the bench had created, trying to soothe him.

"You're awful quiet," he said into his hands.

"I thought you could use someone to listen."

"You thought right."

"For what its worth, I don't think you could have done anything to prevent any of that, any of it. There has always been darkness in the world and there always will be. We will never see Utopia, unless you believe in some great afterlife in the sky." She winced at how mocking her words sounded. She hadn't intended them that way. Steve didn't seem to react. "Maybe it was fate that you lie under the ice for as long as you did. Maybe the world needs you now more than it did then. There has to be a reason for things. They don't occur by happenstance, in my experience."

They had been there for so long that the street lamps had begun to turn on and evening to fall. Steve looked up at Loki and finally met her eyes. "Thank you."

"There is nothing to thank me for."

"There is. I'd be like all of them without you."

"No, you would have your Avengers. You would have your friends from your art class. You would still have people who cared for you."

Steve shook his head, the barest hint of a smile stretched his lips, "No, I started the art class to distract myself from you. Other things. But mostly you."

Loki rolled her eyes and stood, putting her hand out for Steve to take. "Come. It's getting dark. I shall make you dinner." Steve took her hand in his and rose to his feet. He didn't let go when they boarded the A train. Or the 4 train. He didn't let go until they reached the front stoop of his building. Loki found that she didn't mind on the A train. Or the 4 train. Or the walk from the Brooklyn Museum to Steve's front steps. She minded most, she found, when he let go.

***

Steve felt like a huge weight was lifted off of his shoulders when he finally got into his apartment and stripped off his Class A's. They'd definitely have to be cleaned. He'd sweated through his shirt between his nerves and the humidity. He felt shaky and nauseous and he couldn't decide if it was more from stress or hunger. But Onheil had said she would make him dinner and had gone back to her place to start doing just that. Steve had to laugh at himself as he slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt and his most comfortable, beat-up sneakers. When had they traded places? Wasn't he the one supposed to be protecting and taking care of her?

When he walked up to the building he rang her bell and she buzzed him inside, telling him her door was open. As he moved up the stairs it occurred to him that this was the first time he would ever be inside Onheil's apartment. Within the inner sanctum. The Bat Cave. The cloister. He found himself eager to be inside, to see for himself what her private space looked like. He imagined that it was a physical manifestation of all the eclectic tastes and interests she had.

When he reached the door, he did indeed find it open. The first thing he noticed was the incredible smell coming from the kitchen. He could pick out onion and bay leaves when he inhaled deeply. The second thing that he noticed was the complete visual assault the space was. It was alive and writhing with color and texture. He closed the door behind himself and leaned against it to take in the space.

The living room and kitchen were one joined room, the individual spaces defined by the edges of tile and carpet. There was a small, over-stuffed love seat obscured by squishy looking pillows in all sorts of patterns and a soft looking fur throw that he had the urge to wrap himself in. One wall was completely lined with milk crates stacked as shelves that were full of records. Not each one was completely full, there seemed to be some sort of system to their organization from what he could judge from where he was. There was a Victrola on the coffee table in front of the couch. The other wall was dedicated to a small TV with a DVD player but no visible cable hook-up. On either side was a tall book case, stuffed to capacity with books. Every bit of free wall space was covered with a painting or a sketch or a photograph or an interesting piece of album art. _"Wow."_

Onheil finally turned to face him, though he was sure that she knew he was there. She smiled at him. "May I?" He gestured around himself and she nodded and turned her attention back to the large pot she had on the stove. Steve moved down the short hall to the bathroom and bedroom. The bath was small, there was no tub, just a shower stall. He moved into the bedroom and turned on the light. Again, the walls were covered in art. There was a small, unmade bed that looked more like a nest with the way the pillows were arranged. Onheil's signature boots were on the floor in front of the night stand. Seeing them made him move toward the open closet. It was in a state of organized chaos and not a single other pair of shoes was in sight. He rolled his eyes and shook his head as he ran his fingers over sweaters and skirts and pants. The space in the small room that wasn't occupied by the bed was taken up by an easel and several canvases all leaning against each other against the wall in various states of progress.

The art struck him. It was captivating and beautiful. The only unoriginal piece aside from the albums hanging in the living space was the print of _Girl with a Pearl Earring_ hanging in the bedroom. The paintings were his favorites. There were a mish-mosh of styles and aesthetics. Some were city scenes. Some were portraits. Most looked like they came from Onheil's imagination--which was certainly rich. There were lush glades and sunny meadows. There were barren, volcanic lands and wind-swept ice-scapes. There were strange animals and skies that featured multiple moons or visible planets. There were blue monsters and knights and Viking warriors. Steve's two favorite pieces were in the bedroom, flanking either side of the Girl. To her left was a magpie. It looked like it was sitting on the nightstand that was in the room, beside the bed. There was a reddish seed at it's feet and it's head was cocked to one side. It's eyes looked intelligent rather than vacant and bird-like. To the right of the Girl was another. She was pale with dark hair, highlighted in blue against a dove-grey background. Some of her face was gone, the bone of the scull visible and shining. She was beautiful and frightening and serious. Steve had to wonder if it was a self portrait, if both pieces were.

Steve turned off the light in the bedroom and went back out to the kitchen, shucking his shoes in the living room. Onheil was working at browning chunks of beef in a frying pan. There was a fragrant broth simmering in the pot beside it that he guessed was the source of the onion and bay leaf aroma.

Onheil tensed for a moment when Steve slid his arms around her waist and pressed his foread to her shoulder. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For everything. For listening. For making me run this morning. For being you."

"You've nothing to thank me for." Her voice was small and quiet. Her breathing was slow and deep. She'd stopped poking at the meat cooking on the stove.

Steve picked his head up and moved Onheil's hair away from the back of her neck, tugging it lightly to the side and making her tilt her head. He paused, nerves over taking him. He swallowed them down and gently pressed his lips to the newly exposed flesh of the elegantly curved neck in front of him. He took her sigh as a good sign. "Your art is beautiful." He laced his fingers more securely into her hair, held her closer with the arm still around her waist. She melted into him. He kissed her again, longer, lingering.

Onheil drew in a ragged breath when he grazed her skin with his teeth. He backed away from the stove until his heels hit the fridge. A magnet fell down and knocked him in the side of the head. A sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. He was flying almost completely by the seat of his pants, touching her the way he touched her in his dreams and hoping the flesh and blood woman enjoyed it as much as the fantasy one did. He edged his fingers under the hem of her shirt, rubbing the curve where waist met hip with his thumb. She rolled her body against his and turned around, looking him in the eye. She closed the inches between them and pressed her lips to his.

The moment seemed to go on forever; until the scent of cooking meat brought them back to their senses. Onheil peeled herself away from him, cut the flames on the stove, and removed the frying pan to a pot holder on the counter in deliberate, decisive movements. Steve stepped forward and they crashed together, all lips and hands and sighs.

Steve felt her pulling him out of the kitchen. His shins banged against the corner of the coffee table as they passed it, barely avoiding upsetting the Victrola sitting on top of it. She pulled him down the hall and into the bedroom he'd just left. They moved clumsily across the small room. The canvas that had been on the easel hit the floor with a crash. The easel teetered but stayed upright.

The backs of Steve's legs found the edge of the bed and he sat, pulling Onheil down with him. She didn't resist, settling her weight on his lap, her knees planted on either side of his hips. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once. On his face. On his neck. Shoulders. Back. Arms. Fingers laced tightly into his hair, making him groan, making her more bold. If he'd known she felt this way, he would have made a move sooner. Maybe he did know and that's why he hadn't. He was excited and terrified and happy and nervous and thinking far too much.

He found himself unable to resist when Onheil started tugging upward on his tee shirt. His arms free of it, she dropped it onto the floor behind her. Her hands continued their frenzied exploration more enthusiastically. His skin felt feverish in comparison to her cool hands. She shifted and guided until his head was near the nest of pillows at the top of the bed. She pushed him down.

Steve was bewildered. Onheil's eyes glittered in the weak light from the street lamp outside. She looked dangerous with the cloud of black hair wild and loose around her shoulders. He could do nothing but respond when she bent down and continued to kiss him. She moved her lips from his own to his jaw to his throat and back again. Her hands anchored her firmly against his chest. He was sure she could feel his heart hammering against her palms.

He let his hands explore. He kneaded her blue jean-clad thighs. He gripped her hips and her waist. He touched her hair. Her arms. He slid hands down along her back and up again, taking the hem of her shirt with him. She didn't stop him. She sat up and pulled her shirt off, dropped it on the floor with his. She stared down at him, breathing heavily, looking like she was trying to make a decision. Steve was sure he'd be perfectly fine with whatever that decision wound up being. His hands settled back on her thighs and gave them a gentle squeeze.

Onheil began to rock. She rolled her hips back and forth, smooth as the water coming on and off the beach at Coney Island. Her eyes slid closed and her hands slid forward over his stomach and chest. It was like she was trying to memorize the planes of his body with her fingertips. Steve gasped, more in surprise than anything, when she raked her nails down over his skin and her body trembled.

She rocked. She rolled. She undulated. She gyrated her hips in slow, deliberate circles. Steve knew he was hard. He could have been completely numb from the waist down and still known he was hard. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or elated. He moved his hands slowly up Onheil's torso. She was hard and smooth and taut and curvy and softly feminine. Her bare skin against his hands was an assault on his senses. His fingers moved up, traced the edges of her bra, followed the curve of the wire.

Onheil continued to move, clearly trying to achieve some kind of friction worth her while. She gasped when she rolled her hips forward enough to move herself over his belt buckle. Steve bent his knees so that his own hips tilted upward, forcing her to slide against the buckle with each roll forward. She groaned appreciatively and it was one of the most beautiful sounds he'd ever heard. He moved his hands down her sides and up the her stomach toward her breastbone. Something wasn't quite right. In the middle of the span of perfectly smooth skin was a not-so-perfectly-smooth vertical ridge. He contented himself for the moment, kneading her breasts gently when her hands found his. He started down over her torso again and paused over the ridge. It felt like a scar. Her body stilled rigidly, her grip tightened on his wrists. Steve looked to her face, there were too many shadows, he couldn't read her. He knew her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. She gently moved his hands back to her hips and held them there while she started her slow, torturous rhythm again.

Dear God, Steve wished they could _lose the pants._ He would have to say an extra prayer for forgiveness at Mass that week. He would go to Mass three times a day if they could _just lose the damned pants._ He was growing frustrated and uncomfortable in his arousal.

Onheil picked up her speed. Her hands slid forward. One remained on his chest. The other crept toward his throat, encircling it, fingers in his hairline at the back and thumb pressed firmly against the front. The pressure made his eyelids flutter and his head swim pleasantly. He gripped her hips tightly. He wondered vaguely if she'd have fingerprints on her skin when they were through. Steve directed every last bit of focus in him toward the woman undulating over him. He rocked his hips to meet her rhythm. She continued to draw in breath sharply every time she hit his buckle. Eventually, her body tensed. Her legs squeezed against his hips. Her hands and fingers stopped their kneading and rubbing and pressing. She was poised over him, her hair hanging down, tickling his skin where it touched him and hiding her face. She made a choked sound and shuddered hard before she dropped her body against him, pressing their torsos together. Her lips moved gently against his shoulder while she gathered her composure. "Holy shit," she whispered.

***

Loki's body felt heavy. Her bones felt like jelly. Her head felt light. Her skin felt warm. She had a feeling she could fall asleep right here, just like this, perfectly comfortable and content.

But Steve had humored her. And she was acutely aware from the firm feel of him beneath her that he required humoring as well. She slowly sat up and leaned back. He dropped his legs in silent cooperation when she moved her hips back and scooted to straddle his thighs.

Panic flitted over his features, illuminated in the little light coming through the window when her fingers found his belt buckle, then the button on his jeans, then the zipper. She took her weight off of his legs but didn't take her eyes off of his. "Up."He lifted his hips and she pulled his jeans down, catching the waistband of his underwear with them.

Loki continued to look at him while she felt him, wrapping her fingers around him. Feeling and stroking. Slowly. Deliberately. Steve closed his eyes and gripped her thighs as she stroked. She must have stimulated him far more than she thought. Things were already getting slick. No matter, it made her motion smoother as she twisted her wrist gently.

She watched the muscles of his abdomen flex and relax. She watched the stuttering, staccato rhythm of his chest rising and falling with his breath. She watched his throat move as he swallowed hard. She couldn't help but think him beautiful in his abandon.

***

Steve thought about baseball. He thought about logistics. He thought about meticulously cleaning his gun and putting it back together again. Polishing his shield, repainting it after battle. About how many chin-ups he could do if he really tried. Anything but the woman on top of him and the meal she'd been cooking him and the feel of her skin against him and her hands on his chest and his throat. The sounds she made. The movement of her hips. Her hands on him, one gripping his hip with surprising force and the other making slow, torturous work of stroking his cock.

She seemed to know exactly when the stimulation she was giving him was no longer enough. Maybe it was because his grip on her thighs was slowly and steadily tightening of it's own accord. She picked up the pace, moving her thumb over the most sensitive spots. She didn't stop when he groaned and came. She continued to moved her hand languidly up and down until it was clear that he was finished.

Onheil slowly shifted herself onto her side, making his belt buckle clank, leaving a leg slung over him. "Holy shit is right." She laughed. He panted. His eyes felt heavy. She wriggled the hand that had gripped his hip under his shoulder. He put his arm around her. Her other hand was unpleasantly sticky against his stomach. He supposed that was his doing and he didn't care one way or the other. He rubbed the back of her neck with one thumb and her knee over him with the other.

They laid there together in the nest of pillows on the narrow bed that barely accommodated both their bodies while their hearts slowed to a normal pace and their breathing became more steady. Eventually, Onheil peeled herself away from him and climbed over him and off the bed. She picked up a shirt off the floor and slipped it on as she stumbled out of the room. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and then footsteps receding out into the hall and living room beyond. After a long moment, the same delicious smells from earlier found him. He peeled himself out of bed and on steadier legs than Onheil had had, found his way into the bathroom to put himself back other and wipe the ejaculate off of his stomach and chest. He went back into the bedroom to pick up the remaining shirt off of the floor.

***

Loki heard Steve clear his throat behind her as she worked to warm the meat and the broth once more. She turned to look at him. He was still bare-chested. His skin still flushed with color. His hair was a mess. She loved it. He held up a shirt to his chest. "I don't think this will look as cute on me as it does on you."

Loki looked down at herself and grinned. She hadn't realized she'd put Steve's shirt on. "But _this_ one looks so much better on me." She looked up at him, her face full of mischief. "And _nothing_ looks better on you." Steve chuckled but didn't argue. He bent down and picked something up off the floor. She glanced at the fridge and knew it was his letter. He smiled and picked up the magnet, put it back on the door.

She finished cooking and they ate that way. They sat comfortably close on the small couch, Steve nestled into the fur throw while he sipped contentedly at the hot soup and swallowed down chunks of soft beef. "I probably should have browned it in the pot before I started the broth." No, he said, it was still wonderful. Just like her. Loki rolled her eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Steven."

"Flattery got you into bed."

She raised an eyebrow at him, "Excuse me?"

"I complimented your art and you were putty in my hands." Loki bit her lip and smiled.

"I was putty in your hands since the A train."

They passed the evening eating, going through Loki's record collection, kissing languidly, talking about the music. Eventually they found their way to Loki's bed again. They held each other closely. "You're a liar, you know."

Loki raised her head off of his chest lightly, looked at him accusingly. "You said that wasn't your only pair of shoes."

She put her head back down on his chest, "Shut up and go to sleep." Steve chucked, the sound rumbling against her. In moments, his breathing deepened and she followed him contentedly to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is everyone satiated? Loki and Steve certainly are.
> 
> At the time of this posting, the story has 51 subscribers. I wish I could give each and every one of you a hug. But I can't. So instead, PLEASE, tell me what you want to see. I shall try my best to work it into the story.
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading and for all of the wonderful feedback!


	26. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: There's some headcanon in here. I don't know if it jives with the story-line of the comics or not and I don't think I really care. It makes sense to me and it fits well with the story!
> 
> WARNING: Contains myth-related non-con and corporal punishment. You've been given fair warning.

Loki woke to something warm and firm beneath her cheek, a gently pulsing and steady throb, she could feel her head rising and falling out of her control. She opened her eyes and smiled as she looked up at Steve. His eyes were closed, though she could see them moving beneath the thin skin of the lids. His lips were slightly parted. She was aware of the weight of his arms around her, of the tangle of their legs. His blonde hair looked like spun gold threads in the first light of dawn streaming through the window. She couldn't bring herself to move, to disentangle their bodies and begin her day. His arms around her and her cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against her; it felt like home. She couldn't recall the last time she'd felt safe and loved the way she did in those moments as she watched Steve, her darling Captain, sleep in the early morning rays.

***

Steve woke well past his normal time. He looked down at the top of Onheil's head, resting on his chest, watched it rise and fall with his own breathing. He twirled a finger into her hair, relishing in the silky feel of it. He didn't want to move. He just wanted to stay here, in this moment, for as long as he could. One of her hands was curled under his shoulder, gripping the joint, the fingers of the other curled lightly around his bicep, holding him as much as he was holding her. He moved his fingers from her hair and bent his elbow to catch the long pale ones on the same bicep. He craned his neck to kiss the tips when he picked her hand up.

She sighed and turned her head to face him, smiling with closed eyes and hair carelessly across her face. He put her hand down on his shoulder, moved her hair away. "Did I wake you?" No, she'd been awake earlier, had decided to stay put. She liked waking this way. "Me too."

"You slept in."

"You tired me out."

"Will you have time for your run?"

"No."

"Will you have time for breakfast?"

"Sure."

They stayed in bed for a few moments longer. Steve closed his eyes and thought about the evening that had brought him here. He suddenly felt extremely guilty. That wasn't who he was. He didn't just fall into bed with women. All he'd wanted was to kiss her. Hold her. Feel her against him in a different way than when she was curled against him to watch a movie on the couch or to read on the Great Lawn. Something less platonic. It wasn't as if she'd forced herself on him; he hadn't tried to stop her, he was equally as fault. Somehow, though, moving from a first kiss to being half naked with Onheil writhing against him, presumably bringing herself to orgasm, and then jerking him off, felt entirely wrong. It was too fast.

"Onheil?"

"Mmm?"

"Can...I can I say something?"

"Anything."

"I can't do this."

She opened her eyes once more. They were full of hurt and embarrassment. It made him feel guiltier. "What do you mean?"

"This. What we did last night. I can't."

"Did you not enjoy it?"

"I did."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No."

"Then why can't you?"

"Its to much. Too fast."

"Is this not what you've been _pining_ for all summer? Since you met me? Since we started over?"

"It is. But..."

"But what?"

"This just isn't me. I don't do this."

Onheil began by disentangling her legs from his. Then she freed her hand from under his shoulder, moved the other to push down against his chest and lift her body. Steve tightened his embrace, not wanting her to leave, believing that he may never get her back. "Onheil--"

"Don't."

She extricated herself from his arms and climbed over him and out of bed. She paused and put the canvas they had knocked over the previous night back onto the easel before she left the room. The bathroom door slammed so hard that Steve was surprised things didn't come crashing down off the walls. After a moment, Steve heard the water in the shower running. He exhaled fully and put his hands over his face. "Nice one, Rogers."

***

Loki was hurt. She was insulted. She was embarrassed. She was angry. She wanted to hit something. She wanted to use her magic and make Steve completely impotent. She wanted to erase his memory of last night. Erase her own memory.

Instead, she satisfied herself with slamming the door. Then she practically tore the Captain's shirt off of her body before she turned the hot water in the shower on full force. She removed the rest of her clothing and threw each piece at the floor with as much force as she could muster. She glared at the shirt and picked it up again. She opened the door and threw it at the wall before she stepped into the shower.

It was too hot, but she didn't care. She just wanted the scent of Steve's skin off of her own. She was always fooling herself into being happy and content and making herself care for people who clearly did not care for her. Her life had been a lie. Last night had been a lie. This life on Midgard and her friendship with the Captain was a lie. She was just keeping him close. Making sure that she knew his moves before he made them. Last night had been a mistake.

Loki pressed her body against the cooler tile of the shower wall opposite the water. Her skin was reddening. The discomfort of the hot water was becoming painful. That was the only constant. The only thing she could rely on. Pain. She barked out a laugh and let her body slide down the wall. She reached forward through the scalding spray to add cold and lower the temperature. Her eyes burned. She couldn't tell whether the wetness on her cheeks was from water or tears. She was glad she couldn't.

***

Steve had sat up on the edge of the bed and stared out the door, trying to convince himself that this was some awful dream. He hadn't just made a fool of himself and clearly insulted--and probably lost--the best thing in his life. "I'm an idiot."

No. He _wasn't_ an idiot. He had his own standards. He didn't need to compromise them because they conflicted with someone else's. But he certainly could have approached that better. He saw something fly out the bathroom door and heard it shut again. He padded quietly into the hall and picked the thing up. It was his shirt. He closed his eyes and swallowed down the barbs his lips wanted to throw. He slipped the shirt over his head and went to get his sneakers from the living room. He sat on the couch and waited. He wasn't sure for what exactly, but he waited.

Steve listened quietly to the water turn off, a blow drier run briefly, doors open and close. Finally Onheil emerged. She appeared to be ready to leave for work already. She looked so incredibly defeated. Her eyes were red and swollen. The braid in her hair wasn't the most precise thing he'd ever seen.

_"Really?"_ She snorted in apparent disgust. "You're _still_ here?"

"I said that all wrong. I just want to talk, to explain--"

"You've got nothing to _fucking_ explain."

The language made Steve tense, like it always did. Her moods were so susceptible to change and so intense. When she was affectionate, she was so sweet she could rot teeth. When she was happy, she was positively blissful. When she was nervous or afraid, she looked like she might crack and crumble away. When she was angry, when her mood had turned dark, it was like being in the middle of a storm on the open ocean. "Yes, I do." She was completely ignoring him, or at least he thought so. She was fuming in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and closet doors aimlessly.

"You act like you didn't want it! Like you didn't want me! Like poor, pure Steve Rogers was ravaged by the big bad Lo-- _cough_ \--lady, come to steal his virtue!" Her back was to him, she was gripping the edge of the counter so tightly that her knuckles were even more white, if that was physically possible.

"I didn't say that I didn't want it. I wanted it. I wanted you. I just said it was too fast. Last night--"

"Too fast? We've spent an entire summer together and you call this too fast?"

"Last night was like a fantasy. But I just...I'm overwhelmed. Yesterday morning we were friends, _close_ friends, but _friends._ By the end of the day you were touching me and most certainly _not_ in a way that just close friends touch. It was too much, too fast."

Steve saw her shoulders tense. Her arms were trembling with the force she was using to grip the counter. "And I'm not as pure as you think I am."

She made an angry half-snort-half-laugh sound. "Oh yeah? Who?"

"Peggy."

He had fallen into bed with Peggy after he'd returned from his rescue mission with Bucky and the other men who would become his first team, the ones he sometimes thought of as the original Avengers now. Their relationship had moved blindingly quickly. There was an urgency to their passion for each other. They were literally in the middle of war, they couldn't afford to be anything but urgent. They'd anchored each other. Peggy's arms and legs and warmth of heart were a safe harbor, a place where the horrors he faced with his comrades--with her--every day were less threatening. They'd tried their best to keep their relationship private. Steve had been sure that Bucky knew, but not the others. It still made his heart ache that he missed their date when he went into the water. It would have been their first real one. She was going to teach him to dance. His heart ached all the more that he never got to experience Peggy the way he'd spent the summer experiencing Onheil. Maybe that was why the drastic transition that last night had been made him feel so guilty and overwhelmed. Not just because his upbringing, the standards of the time he'd first lived in said that one simply did not do those things outside of marriage. Steve wanted to savor every slow, languid moment with Onheil that he could because he'd never gotten that chance with Peggy.

Steve related as much to Onheil, glossing over some detail. He wasn't trying to compare the two women, just trying to make her understand. He spoke to her back, standing at the border between the tile of the kitchen and the carpet of the living room. "Yeah. Well. I've had a child. So I think I've got you beat in the relationship issues department."

Steve opened and closed his mouth like a fish, stunned and surprised by the revelation. "Onheil." He approached her slowly, gently put a hand on her shoulder. Her body went completely rigid. " _Please_ tell me why you're so angry." He tried to keep his voice as quiet and soft as possible. He felt like if he spoke to loudly she'd shatter or fly away.

"I am not angry. I am disappointed."

"Why?"

"Because I let you in. Because it was a mistake."

"I don't think it was."

"Of course you wouldn't."

If looks could kill, the toaster would surely be a goner.

"Everyone I have ever let in has taken everything they wanted and left. Has hurt me. Has broken my trust. Has used me up and set me aside. Has lied to me. I am done letting people in. I shouldn't have let you. I shouldn't have let myself."

Steve slowly moved his arms around her waist as she spoke, pressing himself to her like he was trying to shield her from the world beyond the cramped kitchen. "Onheil?" Her body relaxed inch by inch. Her grip on the counter loosened, but she didn't let go. "Where's your child?" Her head drooped, he placed a kiss against her shoulder, hoping the compassion he felt for her would translate through the barrier of her cotton tee shirt.

"They took him."

"Who?"

"Them."

"Your parents?"

"Yes. My father."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because I wasn't supposed to have him. It was unbecoming."

"Where did they take him?"

"Away."

"They put him up for adoption?"

"No. They raised him. Sort of. Like a cousin, or something, I suppose. But they wouldn't let him be mine." Steve wasn't sure how to respond, so he kissed her shoulder again."I saw him sometimes. He was well cared for."

"I'm sorry."

"Its not your fault."

***

Loki could remember the evening he had met with the hrimthurs. The tavern had been loud. The shadows at the far end of the room, away from the fire, was preferred by the man made of ice and allowed them privacy and cover.

Loki was tired of Freyja. She grated on his nerves to no end. She was just so _fucking_ stuck up. It didn't help that she had insulted Loki--she'd proclaimed that Loki cut an equally ugly figure as a woman or a man and that she guessed it was only fitting he could switch genders as easily as his clothing with his feminine moods and interests and lack of "serious battle experience." Yeah, well, it wasn't his fault Thor preferred to smash things with Mjolnir rather than allowing him to pick targets off with his bow and his magic. And Freyja's husband, Odr, certainly hadn't thought him ugly--in _either_ form.

It was settled quickly. The hrimthurs builder would approach Odin and offer to create a fortified wall around the edges of the central kingdom in Asgard. There were skirmishes more often than not at the time. Loki knew the Aesir would jump at the chance to protect themselves. In exchange, the builder would demand Freyja. The man wanted the sun and the moon as well. Loki wasn't sure he would be granted those, or what the man even intended to do with them, but he did know that Odin wouldn't be above bargaining Freyja's hide to save his own.

The Aesir agreed to the builder's demands. He could have the goddess as well as the sun and the moon. He was permitted to utilize his horse, but not allowed help from any other person. He must complete the work within three seasons. At summer's end, when the weather began to turn cool, the Aesir feared and attack from Jotunheim may come. Freyja was delightfully furious.

Loki had honestly not been totally convinced that the builder would be able to complete the task. It would be enough to watch Freyja fume and squirm for three long seasons, though, even if the builder never got to leave with her, to bring her back to Niflheim and keep her there. When it became clear that the builder's horse was no ordinary steed and the fortification quickly took shape, Loki couldn't have been more pleased.

That was, until, the Aesir began to catch on as well. Near the deadline at the end of the summer, the builder was nearly finished with the wall. Freyja was a nervous wreck. Loki found little enjoyment in her state, though, because he was becoming equally as nervous as well. There was talk that Loki had planned the whole thing. There was talk that he should be put to death if the Aesir lost the bargain as punishment for his clear deception. Loki denied everything, of course, but they wouldn't have any of it.

Loki had to save his own skin. So Loki became a woman. At first, the plan was to seduce the hrimthurs, distract him enough that the final days of summer would pass before the wall was completed, disrupt the easy flow of his work. The builder wasn't taking the bait. Loki couldn't deny she wasn't at least the smallest bit insulted. She sat atop the wall, swinging her legs back and forth, affording the builder a lovely view of her muscular calves and thighs in the hopes that he might still come around when it came to her. The horse. All she had to do was distract the damned horse. Loki disappeared.

She waited in the wood beyond the wall, hiding in the lush canopy of the leaves. The builder was low on stone. He would need to take a break from his work and bring the horse out in this direction to assist him in fetching more. When Loki heard the pair approaching, she left the cover of the trees. Golden light shimmered down the length of her body and she became a sleek, black mare. She ran out along the path beside the builder and his steed and neighed.

Svadilfari had given chase immeidately, ripping free of the reigns that the builder tried to keep a firm grasp on. Loki had intended only to make the horse chase her. She had hoped a night of running would tire the beast enough that he could not return to the strenuous pace that the builder had set. All Loki needed was for the pair to be even a half day behind schedule.

The builder saw through the glamour immediately, saw the trick. He headed Loki off at a clearing, swinging a lasso and ensnaring her. She kicked, she fought, found she could not free herself. She was too panicked to utilize magic and escape. Later, she supposed she was too far into the horse's head-space and exhausted from running to think clearly. She found she could do nothing but allow Svadilfari to take his pleasure in her while the hrimthurs looked on mockingly.

Loki had achieved her goal, at least. The builder and his steed could not get back into their previous rhythm. Loki was left alone in the wood, angry and ashamed. She did not know how the Aesir discovered the builder's identity. All she knew was that Thor had come for her after he'd smashed the hrumthurs' head to bits. She'd found herself unable to transform, but, her golden brother had recognized her anyway and had led her home.

Some time later, Loki gave birth to a slender foal. He was grey in color, his flanks dappled with inky black like drips on parchment. Even with his eight legs, or perhaps because of them, Loki thought her son beautiful. After recovering from the strenuous birth, Loki woke on the floor of the stable, her body swathed in warm blankets, straw stuck in her wildly messy hair. She felt like someone had taken her insides and ripped them out only to shove them back in again haphazardly.

She called for her brother, who took her to meet her son. Her heart ached when she saw him. The circumstances of his conception and birth did nothing to lessen her mother's love for him. She called him Sleipnir.

Loki cared for Sleipnir the way he had no other child. He had been affectionate but absent with Esia and Einmyria, had acted by choice with them the way that he had been forced to act with Hel later on. He wanted to be a better mother to his son than he had been a father to his first daughters with Glut. When it became evident that Sleipnir was superior to any other horse in Asgard, Odin began to limit the time Loki spent with his child. It had been small things at first. Sending him away on some diplomatic mission. Asking him to research some race's military tactics. Loki had been grateful to be found useful and didn't immediately realize what was happening. But when Odin rode out over the Bifrost upon Sleipnir's back, Loki was crushed. The Allfather had begun to ride Loki's son while he was away on his latest fact-finding mission. He'd raged. He'd kicked and screamed and set fires and and caused destruction. Odin would not back down and Sleipnir became his personal steed. It was as if Loki had never been the beautiful horse's mother.

"You cannot do this!" Loki had shouted at Odin as the man prepared to take Sleipnir out on a hunt. _"He is my child!"_

"He is an abomination, albeit a useful one."

"How can you be so cruel? He was conceived to save the Aesir!"

"He was conceived to save your own flesh, Liesmith. To continue his usefulness, he will cease to be under your care."

Loki planted his feet in the earth and crossed his arms. "I am not moving." Sleipnir's frighteningly intelligent eyes looked concerned, he moved his hooves nervously and jerked his head.

"I will have you moved."

Loki transformed into a woman, right there on the spot. Her robes fit awkwardly on the changed body. She looked up at Odin and reached out to stroke Sleipnir's nose. "You would deny a mother her child, Allfather? You would deny a son his mother's love?"

"You will be punished for your insolence, Silvertongue. For your deception. For the risk to Freyja and the Aesir that you created."

Odin jerked the reigns on Sleipnir's tack, redirecting the horse and galloping away into the wood with his hunting party. Loki crossed her arms and remained on the spot, her jaw set and her eyes glittering with danger for anyone who dared come near.

She stood there for a day and a night. Finally, a palace guard came and lifted her bodily from the spot. Her feet did not touch the ground again until she was well under the palace, in the catacombs that housed cells for those who Odin did not desire for his personal menagerie. Her robes were stripped off of her body and left in a heap on the floor so that she stood only in her boots and leather trousers. Heavy shackles clanked about her wrists, a muzzle was fastened about her lower face so that the sensitive ears of the Aesir in the palace above would not be assaulted by her inevitable cries.

Loki was directed to face the wall, the shackles about her wrists were hooked onto a peg high above her head, her arms becoming hyper-extended. She squared her feet with her shoulders and pressed her forehead to the cold stone in front of her. She waited.

The first lash seemed almost hesitant, reluctant. "It is still the Trickster," some unseen person said gruffly. The following forty nine weren't as hesitant. The muzzle had been unnecessary. Loki had suffered in defiant silence.

When she could no longer feel her fingers, someone came and took her down from the wall, removed the shackles and muzzle. Loki was trembling too violently to resist. A handmaid picked up her clothing from the floor and helped to slip her coat over her arms, backward, to cover her nakedness. She was taken to her rooms and helped to lie on her stomach on the bed. Loki wondered if there was any skin left on her back as she passed out.

She woke to Frigga applying healing ointments to the ravaged skin of her back. They did not speak. When Loki had recovered enough strength to get out of bed and to dress, she did not even consider reverting to her male form. She stayed a woman, a mother. She refused to wear anything but backless gowns made of shimmering grey silk, dappled with onyx stones, for some time afterward. She relished in the discomfort the visible injuries on her back caused the Aesir. She was almost disappointed when the wounds finally healed.

***

"Why are you talking about your son in...past-tense?" Steve's mind was jumping to the worst conclusions. Onheil lifted her head slightly and looked at him from the corner of one stormily-emerald eye.

"What do you mean?"

"Is he...no longer with us?"

"You mean is he dead?" Steve nodded. She could be so blunt, sometimes. It contrasted so starkly with the flowery, formal language she often slipped into. "No, the last time I saw him, shortly before I came here, he was very much alive."

Steve stood there holding Onheil until his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Onheil glanced at the clock on the stove, "That is probably your employer. You're very late." Steve wasn't about to make a move to leave. "You must go to work. So must I. You know, government salary, hourly wages."

Steve released Onheil from his arms reluctantly. "I'll call you later?"

"You may."

"Are you okay?" A nod. "Are we okay?" There was a moment's hesitation before a short nod. "I'll call you later."

Steve found it hard to concentrate on his work that day. Reports and briefs and surveillance footage and covert intelligence stopped having any meaning well before lunchtime. His mind kept wandering to Onheil. To their night together and to their fight this morning and to the revelation she'd made. She said that letting him in was a mistake, but it hadn't stopped her from letting him peek just slightly deeper inside the armor she wore and it made him love her more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Loki revealed a little bit more about herself to Steve. She absolutely hates me for it and is refusing to be forthcoming with the next chapter.
> 
> I hope you didn't mind my butchery of the myth too much. But who is to say that the Midgardians who recorded it got it completely right, or that Loki was totally truthful in telling the story after the fact, either?
> 
> I may or may not take a short break from this fic to write a one-shot. I've had an idea rolling around in my head for a few days.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for all of the wonderful feedback.


	27. Hit Replay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve attempt to live.

Steve never called. Loki didn't realize it until she was preparing for bed. She had worked a double shift and had closed the cafe to pay Matthew back for covering for her the previous day. Business had been busy. She hadn't even noticed when Steve didn't come in for his coffee after work.

_"Are you okay?"_

_"Yes."_

_"You haven't called."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_"Still at work?"_

_"Can't talk about it."_

_"Oh?"_

_"Sorry."_

Loki stared down at the screen of the cellular phone at the one word text from Steve. She wasn't sure whether she should be concerned or not. After she'd told him about her child, she'd been nervous. It had been more information than she had intended to give. She'd only meant to say that she was more impure than he was, that she'd had far more complicated relationships. The words had been out of her mouth before she could stop them. A new message came through. 

_"What is his name?"_

_"Who?"_  

Loki knew full well who Steve was asking about. Why did he want to know? Her body felt cold in a way she only ever remembered in the brief moments she had spent in her Jotun form.

_"Please?"_

_"I don't want to talk about him."_

_"Ok."_

_"Will you call later?"_

_"Tomorrow. Have to go."_

Loki turned the device off and put it in the drawer. She closed the drawer just a little too hard, nearly upsetting the lamp on top of the nightstand. She focused on anything but the lack of communication. She arranged the pillows back into her usual nest. She stripped off her clothes and pulled a worn tee shirt over her head. She brushed out her hair and re-braided it. When she ran out of things to do, she climbed into bed and pulled the comforter over her body. She laid there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a team of SHIELD agents to break down the door or shatter the window and carry her off.

***

Loki waited. Steve didn't call the next day.

***

Steve was upset with himself for not being able to call Onheil when he said he was going to. He didn't feel like they left things on a good note, even if she'd agreed they were "okay." He didn't want her to be upset or think that he didn't want to be with her.

He had been stuck at SHILED. He hadn't slept. Just before he'd been about to leave for the day, the day he and Onheil had last been together, there had been an urgent intelligence communication. The HYDRA cells that he had been researching and strategizing about for months on end had made a move. They had intercepted a weapons shipment meant for freedom fighters somewhere in a country Steve was sure hadn't existed before the ice. The shipment hadn't been American, but they had no intention of blocking it.

"You're the expert, Captain Rogers," Fury had said while he stood at the head of the conference table. The other Avengers and a few Special Operations agents were gathered as well. "What do you think?"

"Its hard to say, to be honest. This isn't the same HYDRA I was up against. Then...then they were organized. They had their own governing body. They had a single cause. They were unified under a single leader. Red Scull had made his army more like the Nazis than he would ever admit to."

Steve thumbed the controls and scrolled through photographs and video clips on the large screen behind the director. "This HYDRA? They're splintered. Some of the cells seem to have a common goal, but there's no central figurehead calling the shots--or at least none that we've found yet. The weapons shipment seems almost superfluous. We know they have stockpiles all over the place. Why steal them?"

Stark offered opinions based on his time as a captive in Afghanistan. Some of the intelligence they'd received sounded entirely too much like the Ten Rings to him. "Could HYDRA be teaming up with Mandarin?" It sounded as likely a possibility to Steve as any.

The mixed group of Avengers and Special Ops agents spent the next twenty four sleepless hours pouring over reports and videos and interrogation transcripts, trying to make any sort of logical conclusion about what was going on. "Can't we just send Hulk in to smash?" Tony turned to Banner as the day was drawing late. "Just drop him from the hellicarrier over a known base. He'll be fine." Tony waggled his eyebrows as Bruce looked at him in disbelief and horror. The suggestion was met with a resounding, "No."

"Alright then, how about Thor? He likes to smash." SHIELD didn't know whether Thor was on Earth or in Asgard, it was unlikely that he could help unless it came to actual combat, anyway. "What about that All-Seeing-Eyes guy? Hemmy-doll? Hamster? Hippopotamus? Hippocrates?" Fury put a hand up to stop Tony's rant. It was actually a good idea. The Asgardian gate-keeper may actually be able to provide some clarity to the situation. But they would still need to get in touch with Thor, he was their only connection to the realms beyond their own.

"Hmm." Bruce had perked up. He'd seemed both bored and overwhelmed by the proceedings. War wasn't his area of expertise. "We could try to fix that." Tony's eyes glittered in a way they only did when he spoke about some new project. "Think we could get some access to Fitz-Simmons?" Fury didn't see why not. They were still working on and off on trying to get more information out of the subway security footage, but they didn't have any other high priority projects on their plate.

Steve didn't make it home that evening either. He was too tired. His mind wouldn't stop working. Nothing about the intelligence they'd received made any sense. At the end of the day, it had been agreed that Natasha would select a team from the group of Special Operations agents and go overseas to try to make sense of it all and get more from-the-horse's-mouth information. In the mean time, SHIELD would try to get in touch with Dr. Foster and figure out where Thor was. Bruce and Tony had already headed off to invade Fitz-Simmons' lab. Steve laid there in the barracks at HQ for hours, tossing and turning on the narrow bed. He didn't think he would be able to make it home on the train without falling asleep and now sleep wouldn't come.

***

_"Captain Rogers...Steve, he saved me. He saved a lot of people. No one ever stopped to think that he might need saving too. He was just hope. Running, shooting, flying, sacrificing hope. I owe him my life. If he hadn't come to find his friend, to find all of us, I wouldn't have come home. I wouldn't have married my wife. Had my children. Had my grandchildren."_

The older gentleman Steve had been speaking to was on the computer screen at the library, giving an interview after Steve had left, it appeared. Loki wondered if Steve had seen this yet. It had painted him in an extremely positive light. It had focused on him as a man and a soldier, Captain America had been secondary to the heroic things that Steve had done and the horrific things that Steve continued to deal with.

_"When we tried to reach him for further comment, a representative for Captain Rogers said that he was not available."_

The last lines of the segment made Loki nervous. Steve hadn't gotten into contact with her since the few messages they exchanged the first evening. He hadn't called the next, like he'd said he would. Now it was nearly closing time at the library the following day after that. Still nothing. Why was Captain Rogers unavailable? Her suspicions had only increased when she thought about Steve asking what her son's name was. Could he be just genuinely curious and wanted to keep her talking because he cared? Or did he just want to keep her talking? Had he figured her out? Was that why he had felt so differently about their coupling--or lack thereof--upon waking?

Steve never showed his face at the cafe, either.

Loki sat in the dark on her couch. Fur wrapped around her shoulders, steaming cup of tea clasped tightly in her hands. Midgardian classical music floated toward her from the Victrola on the table. She thought it was Mozart. She wasn't sure. She'd just selected a record at random and set it to playing. She had hoped that all of this would calm her nerves, that physical comfort would ease the mental discomfort. It wasn't helping.

Loki nearly dropped the cup in her hands when the buzzer rang to indicate that someone was downstairs. No one ever ran her buzzer. Except Steve, once. She rose shakily from the couch, clutching the fur around herself. She pressed the intercom button on her end. "Who is there?" She voice came out in a croaking whisper.

"Its me."

Loki's hand trembled as her fingers hesitated over the button that would allow Steve inside the lobby. Finally, she pressed it. She watched through the peep-hole for Steve to come up the stairs. It looked like he was alone. She hoped he was alone.

Loki nearly jumped out of her skin when Steve rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Onheil?" She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. She looked out at Steve through the opening. "Hey." Steve smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes the way it normally did. There were no crinkles at the edges. "Can I come in?" Loki closed the door and removed the chain before opening it again. 

_"Oof."_ Loki felt smothered as Steve enveloped her in his arms.

"I'm sorry. I don't even know what to be sorry for anymore. But I am."

"You've no need to be sorry." Loki found she could not move her arms to return the embrace.

"Can we start over?"

"Again?"

"Yes."

"I...I suppose."

"Can I kiss you?"

"That's not starting over. That's hitting replay."

"Then let's hit replay."

"Then kiss me."

And so he did.

"Why is it so dark in here?"

Loki laughed softly and removed herself from Steve's arms to flick the light switch and close and lock the door behind him. He looked weary in the soft, incandescent light. "Are you hungry?"

***

He was hungry. Steve had worked through lunch and dinner to make sure that Natasha and the team she had picked would have the proper fake documents and that the right people would be paid off to ensure them safe passage. He may be upset with her, but she was still Natasha. It was his way of extending an olive branch.

Onheil busied herself with heating leftovers from the large pot of beef soup she had made for him earlier in the week. It felt like a month ago. He watched her as she stood in the kitchen, one pale hand extended to work the ladle in the pot on the stove from the cloak she'd made of the fur throw from the couch. She looked like something out of a fairy tale with the fur pooled around her feet on the floor like that. Some woodland witch cooking up a brew. But was it to be used for good or bad? She looked at him over her shoulder, her face half obscured. He could tell she was wearing a smile, it had reached her eyes. She was definitely a good witch. He couldn't picture her floating in a pink bubble, though.

What was that book? The one about the witches where the Wicked Witch was named after the letters in that author's name. _Elphaba._ Onheil was definitely more of an Elphaba.

***

Steve looked like he was lost in thought. Loki ladled hot liquid from the pot into a bowl and turned the flame off. She placed the bowl in his hands and curled up close to him, shifting the fur so that it shielded them both from the world.

"Why were you unavailable for further comment?"

"What?" Loki told Steve about the story that had finally aired.

"Oh. It was really okay?" Loki nodded and brushed a stray hair off of Steve's forehead. "No one ever came and asked me. I guess because we were working so hard. I didn't know."

"Do you want to talk about work?"

"No. I don't want all that here."

Loki didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. She scooted closer to the source. At least terrified wasn't angry or disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh. Not my favorite chapter, but this wanted to be written more than the one-shot did.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it regardless. As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	28. Meet the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve spend a day.

Steve finally looked relaxed after he'd tipped the last of the broth from the bowl into his mouth and set it down on the coffee table. He shifted around so that his legs were cradling Loki's body and pulled the fur more closely around the two of them.

"Good?"

"Mhmm."

"Good."

"Wait. Aren't you hungry?"

"Steve, it's somewhere around 10:30. I had dinner four hours ago."

"Oh. I guess I lost track of time. It was such a long day."

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

"I want to. But I can't."

"Okay."

Steve leaned his cheek against the top of Loki's head. After a few moments, his breathing deepened. The force of his breath was moving hairs across her forehead and tickling her nose. Loki was fighting a sneeze with every fiber of her being when Steve jerked himself awake.

"I should go." Loki frowned and looked up at Steve, sticking her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"Stay."

"Its late."

"So?"

"Don't you have to work in the morning?"

"Nope. I have an honest-to-goodness day off."

"Really?"

"Stay."

Steve's response was to snuggle further down onto the couch and wrap his arms more securely around Loki. "Steve?" Loki whispered. She was answered by a rumble through his chest. "I have to use the bathroom." Steve said she wasn't allowed. "Well, then things are going to get very uncomfortable on this couch." He chuckled and released her.

Loki stood in front of the mirror over the sink and stared at her reflection. Her mind was racing. She wanted so badly to trust him, to continue to let him in. That frightened her more than the possibility that Steve had figured out who she was or was about to figure it out.

She returned to Steve on the couch. He had put the Mozart record away and was looking through a shoe box filled with DVDs. "This one." Loki took the disc from him and popped it in. They wrapped themselves in each other in fur once more and watched as that nice boy who didn't sink with the ship fell instantly in love with that girl who would fall from the sky as a star made flesh. Half way through the action, Steve's breathing evened out and deepened once again. Loki let him sleep.

She woke the next morning to the scent of eggs and onions and chorizo and coffee. "I see you've raided the fridge." Steve grinned and popped a piece of the fragrant, spicy sausage into his mouth.

"You sleep like a rock, you know that?"

"I do, do I?"

"Mhm."

"Well, you're like a human space heater."

"And your feet are like blocks of ice."

Steve served her and then sat cross-legged on the floor on the opposite side of the table. "So what are your plans for your honest-to-goodness day off?" Loki didn't have any plans.

"You didn't get up for your run."

"Nope. Slept in. I was far too comfortable."

"On this tiny couch?"

"Yup. I had a good couch-mate."

Loki couldn't help but laugh. "You don't have to go back to work?"

"No, we can't really do much more until Natasha comes back."

"Well. What would you like to do then?" Steve shrugged. "You know, you're required to have fun and get into trouble on Saturday."

"Oh?"

She nodded and chewed thoughtfully. "Saturday is Loki's day."

Steve choked, his face turning red for a moment. "What?"

"Like Thursday is Thor's day. And Tuesday is Tyr's day...What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just...I've met Loki. He seemed like the get into trouble kind. Not the have fun kind."

"Oh. Right. That was...some time ago? Here. Right?" Steve nodded. "Why no fun? He's the Trickster."

"He...he was a little crazy."

***

Onheil raised an eyebrow at him. "Crazy how?"

"Mmm. Homicidal? No. Not homicidal. Just...didn't care who died. Who got used. But..."

"But what?"

"His eyes. They seemed odd. When we were fighting, especially that last day, it seemed like he wasn't really there. After Hulk knocked him around, it was like he was a different person. More casual, sort of resigned. Not as manic. But still...wild." He looked at Onheil, "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"Go on."

"After Thor came and told us that Loki had died, how he had died, it all kind of started to make a little bit more sense. About Loki, I mean. After Selvig recovered from everything he told us about how Loki would be really irritable. That his plans didn't seem like his own most times. He'd sort of zone out for long periods of time and when he--came back? woke up?--he'd seem scared or nervous. He'd talk to himself when he thought no one was paying attention. Selvig felt like someone else was calling the shots."

"Curious."

"Why are you so interested?"

Onheil shrugged and forked food into her mouth, chewed deliberately. "I like mythology."

"I tried to do some research, after. I wanted to understand what the heck was going on. When I went into the ice there was just Earth and Heaven and Hell. All of a sudden there were nine other worlds and each one was home to some race of creatures or people or something that could probably wipe us all out just because they'd gotten bored. I wanted to know more about Loki, too. None of it sat right with me. I couldn't understand why Thor was so broken up over someone who was supposed to be so evil. But, to me, it didn't seem like he was. Not always, at least. When he did really bad things, it sounded like a prank gone too far or played on the wrong person; or in retaliation--which isn't right, but understandable, at least, I guess--and the ways he was punished...it all just seemed so harsh. Everything was an eye for an eye. If you want to punish someone, you punish them. You don't hurt their family."

Onheil was staring hard at her now empty plate. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"What's the matter?"

She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. When she opened them, she was smiling. "Nothing." It struck him as odd, but he let ago.

"So let's go out and have fun and get into trouble."

They didn't go out and get into trouble. They stayed right where they were. Playing records and touching and caressing and kissing. Steve found that Onheil did like it when he put his lips to her neck, when he used his teeth. She liked it when he kissed her gently. She liked it when he crushed her lips with his own. He liked it when she took charge, when she edged his lips open with her own, when she explored his mouth with her tongue. He liked it when she was gentle, kissing pathways over his neck and jaw. He liked it when she was silly and kissed him on the nose.

It was well past noon when Steve's phone began to buzz. "It's Tony. He wants shwarma."

"Shwarma?"

"Its Middle Eastern food. Tony nearly died during the battle with Loki and that alien army. He passed out and fell back down to Earth after he'd directed this missile through a portal to another world. When he came to, he asked if anyone wanted to go out for shwarma."

"Oh."

"Now its like his tell. Whenever someone reminds him he's just man, not Iron Man, he wants to go out for shwarma. There's a restaurant he likes, over in Kips Bay."

"You should go."

"I want to stay here with you."

"Your friend needs you."

The comment hit Steve like an anvil hitting the Coyote, "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. Meet Tony."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it feels like you're trying to bring me home to meet mom and dad."

It struck Steve as entirely too perceptive, "Tony _is_ my family. The team is. You don't want to meet my family?"

Onheil shook her head, "I do...but...I just..."

"Don't have an excuse."

She sighed heavily. "Go home and change. I'll meet you by your place."

Onheil was waiting outside his building when he came back down the stairs. She was fidgeting with the hem of her blouse with one hand and the end of the braid pulled over her shoulder with the other. "You look beautiful," Steve told her as he cupped her chin and brought his lips to hers. He had a theory that only she could make such a simple outfit look so perfect. "I like you in green."

"Oh yeah?" He released her chin and entwined their fingers.

"Yeah."

"Steven?"

"Mhm."

"Can we take the bike?" She was grinning and looking up at him through her eyelashes. Steve chuckled and led her back in the opposite direction. He had to go back upstairs and grab helmets. His bike was parked several blocks away in a private parking structure. It was a good neighborhood, but he didn't get the chance to ride it often and even as faithful in humanity as he was, he fully realized that he might come out to find it stripped one day.

When the bike was retrieved, he directed Onheil to put the helmet on and climb on behind him. The feel of her legs around him and her arms braced tightly against his abdomen made him smile. He started up the bike and headed toward the bridge that would take them onto Manhattan island. When she pressed her front to his back and leaned her chin on his shoulder, it made him positively beam.

They crossed the river and made their way down through Kips Bay, conveniently finding a spot to park right outside the Shwarma Grill on Third. Steve could see Tony rising from his seat in his peripheral vision as he swung his leg over the bike and put down the kick stand. Onheil removed her helmet and shook out her hair, immediately sticking her hand out for Steve to take after she'd stowed the helmet.

"Spangles!"

"Tony."

The two shook hands and Onheil drew her body close to Steve's. Tony turned his eyes on her, looked her up and down. "Holy crap."

"What?"

"Holy crap."

"What, Tony?"

"This is _the_ girl."

Onheil was biting her bottom lip, suppressing a giggle as her eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Tony looked the two of them over, eyes lingering over their entwined fingers.

"Cap. You dog."

"What?"

Tony waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way. Steve felt his face burn red. Onheil finally released that giggle. "No, Tony, no. Just...no." Tony just continued to nod as he backed into his chair and sat, crossing his arms. _"Stop."_ It sounded more like _staaaaahp_ as it came out of Steve's mouth. He looked at the woman on his arm, "I'm glad you find this amusing."

"I find most things amusing."

"Oh, Cap, I like this girl."

The couple sat. Tony had taken the liberty of ordering for the table. "How rude of me," he said before he picked up his fork again. He reached across the table and held out his hand. "Tony Stark. Playboy, billionaire, philanthropist." Onheil took his hand and shook it. "And you are the supermodel that Stevie somehow managed to nab."

Onheil rolled her eyes. "Flattery will get you no where, Mr. Stark."

Steve snorted and remembered the last time she had said that phrase. It earned him a casual backhand across the shoulder. "But yes, I am Onheil. I imagine you've heard of me. All good, I hope. I've heard much of you."

"Steve. Your girlfriend talks like a Jane Austen novel."

"Tony, how do you know what a Jane Austen novel sounds like?"

"You may have left one lying around the private floors of the tower."

"And you may have read it."

"And you both are positively maddening."

"Oh, Cap, I _really_ like this girl."

They ate. They talked. Steve asked Tony what was up with the new communication system. "Not much, to be honest. But Fitz-Simmons has some really creative ideas." He got a far-away look in his eyes. "They're so young. And eager. And smart." Sadness and longing flitted over his features briefly. "I used to be that way."

Steve nudged his shin with a foot under the table, trying to comfort him without being direct. "At least you can still say you're eager."

Tony turned to him and narrowed his eyes comically, "Oooh. Burn." He grinned and resumed happily tucking away falafel and lamb.

When they were finished, they went outside and the couple began putting their helmets back on. "I had a lovely time, Mr. Stark. It was a pleasure to meet you." Tony took Onheil's hand and kissed her knuckles dramatically. "It was my pleasure, Lady Ferguson. I still cannot believe you have never before experienced the goodness that is shwarma." Steve shook his head. He was glad that Tony and Onheil seemed to have hit it off. He wanted her to be a part of his whole world. Not just the private one. "You two should come back to the tower. Pepper went to Tokyo and left me all alone with Banner. He's just no fun." Steve looked to Onheil for approval. She shrugged.

"Its your day off, though. We were going to have fun and get into trouble."

"I don't mind. Mr. Stark's company is pleasant." She flashed her smile at the man as she settled her helmet over her head.

"Tony, please." He pressed a button on his key chain and the lights on the flashy vehicle two spaces away blinked.

"We'll meet you there." Steve settled his weight over the bike and snapped the visor of his helmet down. Onheil wrapped herself around him again and lowered her own visor, waving to Tony as they pulled away from the curb.

***

When they arrived at Stark Tower, Tony was waiting for them in the lobby. The there got into the elevator where JARVIS directed them to the research laboratory on the private floors that Dr. Banner was hold up in in that moment.

Tony spread his arms wide as he walked through the door, "Honey, I'm home!" A man was hunched over a lab bench, surrounded by devices with exposed wires and connections. There was a hologram of the inner workings of the human ear projected in front of him.

Loki found it almost hard to believe that this slight man was the big green monster that had whipped her around like a rag doll. She had a fleeting curiosity as to whether or not the floor of that lovely bar area still bore the imprint of her body.

"I think I may actually be getting somewhere with modeling this thing off of a cochlear implant." Banner's focus was still on the materials in front of him.

"Brucie! We have guests." Banner finally turned around. He blinked rapidly a few times, as if his eyes needed to adjust from focusing on the tiny mechanics to the large panorama. He methodically removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt, studying Steve and Loki. _"Oh no, he recognizes me."_ He put the glasses back on his nose and spoke, "You must be Onheil."

Loki smiled and squeezed Steve's hand tighter, hoping that no one else noticed she was trembling. Bruce stood and held out his hand, smiling softly, almost sadly. Loki took it and shook it. "Don't worry, the Big Guy isn't coming." She bit her lip and apologized. "I guess my reputation precedes me."

_"That's okay. So does mine."_

Tony announced that the couple would be staying for dinner later on but that he'd had JARVIS set up the screening room for an afternoon of vegetation. The screening room wasn't typical. When Loki walked in she immediately thought of a room the Midgardians might hold a mentally unstable person in. Stark explained that the pyramid shaped foam on the walls was to ensure that the room was insulated against sound. "Like a recording booth." The floor was essentially a large mattress with a couch-like surface raised on one side of the room, opposite the large screen. There were comfortable-looking pillows and throw blankets littering the space.

Loki hardly remembered the title or the plot of any of the three movies that played before the disembodied voice that Stark explained kept the building running smoothly announced that dinner had arrived and was being set up by the helper bots. "Is it a person?" No, he'd said. It was an artificial intelligence, computerized but capable of learning and adapting. "So like a mind with no body? Although, I suppose the building could be the body." Tony grinned and told Steve he liked her, again. The time had passed mostly with Stark badgering her for information about herself peppered with polite inquiries from Banner.

"You can't have her, Tony."

Loki sucked her bottom lip inward in a mischievous smile, "And who says I don't want to trade you in for a different model?"

Steve looked at her in mock hurt. "She's amazing," Tony was muttering and shaking his head. Loki furrowed her brow and pointed her index finger out at Steve, lowering it to his side. "Oh gosh. No. _Please_ no." One eyebrow raised and her smile returned, spreading slowly over face. She poked. Steve flinched. She poked again, he whined, trying to hold in laughter. Tony's eyes grew wide, "How do you know about The Spot?"

Loki turned her grin on Stark. "Purposeful exploratory poking."

"I found it by accident. Well. Maybe not by accident. I was trying to see if he'd turn into a big patriotic rage monster." Tony grinned, communicating something silently. Loki got the hint. Steve's face blanched. " _No._ Nonono." They attacked. Steve didn't manage to hold back his laughter that time. Big, rumbling, purely mirthful laughs rolled up from his toes as he squirmed and flinched and tried to protect his sides. "Stop! Please stop! I can't breathe!" They relented. Steve slid from the couch to the soft, pillowy floor. "You two..." He was panting, his face pink with exertion. "Are evil."

Loki slid down beside him and threw a leg over his torso. "Aha! I've defeated the great Captain America!"

"Hey! You had help!" Tony pouted. Loki giggled.

"How shall I claim the spoils of victory?" She leaned down and kissed Steve full on the lips.

"Onheil!" Loki just laughed. Even with the Hulk in the room, she was having far too much fun to care about Steve's concerns over impropriety.

"And on that note, I'm going to see if the bots are done." Banner rose from his seat and left the room.

"C'mon, you two. Grub time now. Spoils to the victor later." Tony waggled his eyebrows and followed Banner.

***

"I don't think I like it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Their relationship. It's just...not normal."

"That's insane. They're young. Or at least one of them is. Comparatively. Chronologically. They're in love. Or at least in lust. Leave them be."

"I don't like it."

"Stop over analyzing it."

Bruce cleaned his glasses again while he and Tony rode the elevator to the residential floor. Tony shook his head, "Bruce, when was the last time you saw him that happy? Let him have it while it lasts. Maybe they'll surprise us all." Banner relented and put his glasses back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the fluff! And I hope it still felt like everyone was themselves, or at least the version of them that I've established. I felt like it was getting too fluffy at one point.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for all of the feedback.


	29. Fashionable Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets a look into the window he missed.

Dinner was jovial and easy. Onheil asked questions about Tony and the arc reactor, about Bruce and his research, about what exactly he was trying to make with the cochlear implant as a model--which he of course said nothing about and only baited her limitless curiosity more. She asked questions about Tony's business. She asked questions about Bruce's life before the radiation.

Onheil seemed genuinely interested in his team, his friends, his family. Steve loved every moment of it. She fell into the exact, perfect, right spaces. She seemed like she was the missing puzzle piece or the glue to hold it all together or... _something._ For the first time, Steve noticed how genuinely happy he had felt all day. His heart swelled as he watched Onheil use her utensils to illustrate her understanding of whatever Tony had been explaining.

Onheil rose and started collecting dishes. Tony bade her stop, "No, I insist. It's the least I can do in exchange for the lovely afternoon and evening." Steve rose from his own seat, picking up a bowl that had been filled with pasta from the center of the table and followed Onheil, directing her to the kitchen.

"Thank you," he breathed into the back of her neck when they set the dishes down on the counter. A nervous helper bot was pacing the floor on one side of the room, waiting for them to leave so it could do the job it was programmed to. Steve wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to the curve between her neck and shoulders. She gasped, _"Steven."_ Her body slumped back into his, melting onto him. He chuckled quietly and kissed again, emboldened by her response, and ran his tongue lightly over the curve. She groaned. "You're on a track toward too much too fast."

"Mhmm." She trembled. Steve turned her in his arms and kissed her tenderly, square on the lips. Her fingers gripped the front of his shirt between them. "Captain darling, you do nothing but confuse me." He pulled away and said they should get back to the dining room. She nodded, taking a moment to regrow bones in her legs before she released his shirt, leaving bunched up wrinkles.

When Steve turned around to walk through the door, Tony was standing there, grinning and nodding as he leaned against the door frame with crossed arms. "Oh don't mind me. I like to watch."

Steve shook his head, _"Tony,"_ he scolded.

They spent a short while longer until Onheil seized Steve's wrist to bring his watch into focus. "I hate to take advantage of your hospitality and run, but I do have to work in the morning and we still need to get back to Brooklyn." Tony told her it was no problem, he'd been happy to have them. "Bruce is a boring dinner partner. Best night I've had since Pepper left!" She'd been gone since the beginning of the week, trying to pull in donors for one of the many charities that Stark Industries had created to fund math and science scholarships.

The ride back to Brooklyn was cooler than the one onto Manhattan. It was nearing the end of August and though the days were still oppressive at times, the nights were comfortable and breezy. Onheil and Steve walked from the parking structure back toward their street, helmets in hand.

"Days like today make me realize how much I missed."

"How?"

"I don't know. Maybe...I guess because what I have now is so different from what I would have had."

"Is what you have now not good?"

"It is good. Really good. Its just not what I ever imagined for myself--could have imagined for myself."

"Then what are you missing?"

"Passage of time, I suppose? It was like I leap-frogged from the Bronze Age to the Space Age. I think that's what makes it so hard to cope. What makes it so hard to understand some things, understand people and how they treat each other, how they interact. I didn't get to see the progression...the development from the world I went into the ice in and the world I woke up in. I didn't get to experience for myself all of the things that worked to change people. Reading history books doesn't give you that, even if they're supposed to be a first-hand account."

Onheil looked critically at the helmet in her hands. Steve could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "Perhaps I shall have to give you a taste of what you missed."

"How?"

"You'll see." She refused to say anything more on the subject.

"Want to come inside?" She couldn't, she had to get some sleep. She was opening the shop in the morning, the manager had taken a vacation. Steve grinned, "I guess I'll see you at five-thirty, then." She smiled, "I guess you will."

Onheil kissed him goodnight and handed him the helmet she'd been carrying. Steve watched from his stoop as she made her way up the block and toward her own building.

***

"Damn him," Loki whispered to the dark, empty room as she laid in bed, wide awake. Her neck was on fire. She imagined she could still feel the hot, slick trail of his tongue moving across her skin. He'd found that spot entirely too quickly and took advantage of the sensitivity every chance he got. Loki had always found her neck sensitive in the course of lovemaking and fucking. The attention he paid to it made her even more aware of each nerve ending. It wasn't lost on her that she was submissively baring her throat to a man who had once been her enemy, that she completely let down at least her physical guard around him.

Loki had an inkling that Steve had known _exactly_ what he was doing to her in that kitchen.

For the first time, in a very long time, Loki didn't dream of Germany. She dreamt of Steve and his hair like gold threads in the sunlight coming through the window. Of his lips on her neck and his fingers on her skin. She dreamt of the solid bulk of his body beneath her. She dreamt of slow, deliberate movements. Of heat. Of sweat. Of heavy breath. When she woke, she felt as though she'd never slept.

***

Steve had felt wonderful on Sunday. He started it with a run and seeing Onheil. He'd hung around, sketched, watched her work for most of the morning before he had to leave or miss the last Mass of the day. He kept hoping she'd turn and look over her shoulder at him the same way she'd done the other night. He couldn't get her expression just right on the paper. He wanted to see that smile in her eyes. Needed to see it.

Monday brought work. Agonizing, endless work. A report had come in from Natasha after lunch. She'd arrived safely and was beginning to dig for information. She'd start with satellite targets and work her way inward. For now, it was a restless waiting game. There wasn't much that Steve could do until Widow had relayed new or better information.

So, he sought out Fitz-Simmons. They'd reminded him several times that he said they could run tests on him at some point. Now seemed as good a time as any. It would keep his mind occupied.

If you could say nothing else about Simmons, you could say that the girl was thorough. She'd had a notebook filled with theories and experimental designs out and ready as soon as he walked into their office. She'd started with drawing blood and coaxing him into CAT Scans and MRIs with the promise that she'd intended to do at least the MRI over again after she'd run him through paces, "You know, whatever level of exertion is typical of a mission." Steve wasn't sure the new scientific agents really understood what _exertion typical of a mission_ actually was. She started discussing the possibility of getting more accurate levels from vitreous fluid than blood as she frowned at whatever results the computer had spit out at her. He was relieved when Bruce arrived to update Fitz-Simmons on his progress with the communication device. Bruce leaned in toward Steve as he walked by, "Vitreous fluid is in the eye." Mortified, Steve quickened his pace away from the lab. He prayed she wasn't serious.

Steve left early. There'd been no further word from Natasha and he wanted to avoid the young biochemist at all costs. He'd no intention of allowing a needle anywhere near his eyeballs. He headed straight for the coffee shop when he got back to Brooklyn. 

He selected a table and took his messenger bag off of his shoulder, taking his time to pull out his sketchbook and lay out his pencils while there was a line. He smiled as he heard the familiar thunk of boot against floor somewhere behind him.

As always, when he turned around, his eyes scanned the floor for those ever-present boots. He had a mind to take her out shopping or figure out her shoe size and enlist Pepper's help. He couldn't help but feel like his stomach was full of butterflies when he found them. He followed the line of her legs. Something was different. They weren't quite as pale. She's been facing sideways and when she turned fully around, Steve noticed the light brown line traveling up the backs of her calves. They disappeared under the hem of a dress that floated just below her knees. The saturated red color of the fabric contrasted starkly with her skin. Her apron was tied about her waist, but he could see that the dress was belted. It's sleeves ended just below her elbows and puffed out slightly at the shoulder. When she turned, pintucks were visible starting at the shoulder and going down behind the front of the apron. Although much longer, her hair looked like something he remembered Katharine Hepburn wearing, all precise curls and waves. She noticed him and smiled, one eyebrow going up as if asking for approval. She pressed her lips together and rolled her eyes, moving back toward the counter.

Onheil approached with a mug of coffee. "Black, no sugar." She set it down beside his sketchbook on the table. "You can close your mouth now." Steve did, not realizing it had been hanging open.

"You look incredible." He could never remember her wearing a stitch of makeup, but now her lips were a rusty shade of red. Her cheeks were a soft pink that looked more like a natural flush than a powder. Already thick and dark, he didn't think she'd used anything on her eyelashes.

"Thank you. I thought I'd start with the familiar."

"What?"

"To give you a taste of what you missed."

"How...?"

"You'd be surprised at how much women's fashion can tell you about what was going on during any time period."

Steve's eyes widened as she leaned in and whispered, "Pretty sure I've got _everything_ accurate to the times." He gulped. "But, you know...Don't want to head toward too much too fast, so you'll just have to trust me."

She grinned at him slyly and started to walk away. The shop was busy, it was the after-work-rush. "Wait until you see what I've got planned for Halloween!"

Oh, how he wanted to see the _entire_ outfit.

The following evening brought stockings and a brown, close fitting skirt topped with a crisp white blouse and a brown necktie. He couldn't help but think of Peggy. He couldn't help but think that was the intent.

After that, she mimicked Hepburn's look in full with high-waisted, wide-legged tan slacks and a black blouse buttoned all the way to the top.

She said it was too warm out for jackets and peplums. He'd just have to wait. He wanted to point out that she'd spent a sweltering summer in boots. He held his tongue.

He knew she'd left his time when she appeared on the Great Lawn in a cropped shirt and a fluffed-out skirt that barely came to the middle of her thighs in a loud floral pattern. The hat she wore looked like a halo around her head. His eyes kept flitting to the very bottom of the pearl colored scar peeking out of the bottom of the shirt. He wondered if she knew it was visible.

Onheil seemed to move through fashion periods arbitrarily. Sometimes it seemed as though she'd run out of options. Sometimes it seemed she'd just gotten bored. She often asked him what he liked and what he didn't, as if she was filing his answers away for future reference. Although she looked fabulous in anything she put on, Steve didn't like the full skirts or the oppositely skin-tight looks from the 1950's. He did like what she called "The Audrey," comprised of something called a cigarette pant and a plain black shirt. He liked the bold patterns and colors and the array of fabrics and shapes from the 1960's, but most of all he liked what she called "The Jackie," which was a comfortable looking knee-length pink skirt and blouse with cap sleeves and a wide neck.

He was amazed at how much truth there was to Onheil's comment that much could be gleaned from the state of a woman's clothing from a particular time period. Each new style came with a story about the political, social, and economic climate of the time it came from.

"Why do you name your outfits after women?" He asked once. She said it was because they were inspired by the woman who had made the look popular or who had been known for it. Steve found himself Googling some of the names she used during his lunch hour, trying to anticipate what might come next.

Her experiment in showing Steve what he'd missed brought them closer, emotionally and physically. They became more bold. Touches lacked as much chastity. Kisses weren't limited to faces and necks. Any exposed skin was at risk. More often than not, he found himself without a shirt, Onheil's hands everywhere at once. Steve was still concerned that they were moving too fast at times. Onheil was right, though, they'd spent the summer together--almost exclusively together--in quiet but affectionate courtship. He still didn't think he wanted to take things as far as the bedroom, but, eventually, he didn't mind the new pace that had been set.

The last thing Steve saw her in was a nearly floor-length, long-sleeved dress made of wide strips of crochet lace and floral patterned cotton. Her hair was held back away from her face with several tiny braids joined at the back with a silk daisy. It was nearing the end of September. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

She smiled and nodded, leaning in to kiss him on the front stoop of her building. She'd finished her shift in time for them to go out to dinner together. Her lips tasted like red wine. "Of course." They had discussed plans to visit a museum on the Bowery and then walk through SoHo in earnest.

When Steve called the next morning, Onheil answered just before the call got kicked to voicemail. "Hey, you ready to head out?"

"No. I'm sorry. I can't."

"Why not?"

"I feel ill."

"I'll come over there then."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Please, don't."

Steve didn't like it. Not one bit. "Are you sure? I can come take care of you."

"No. I..." There was a long pause, he could hear her breathing, like she was trying to steady herself. "I don't want you to catch anything." Steve told her that he was a phone call or a text away if she needed anything. _Anything._ She thanked him and hung up.

***

Loki went up to her apartment, enjoying the feel of the dress around her legs and wondering just how kinked her hair would be around her face when she unwove the braids. At least most of it had been hanging down. There wouldn't be too much fluff to deal with. She felt warm and light and content. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way. She wasn't sure that she'd ever felt that way.

She popped a disc into the player, the track listing appeared on the television. She hit play and walked into the short hall and into the bathroom. She began working the plaits out of her hair.

_You are my sweetest downfall. I loved you first, I loved you first._

She had to laugh when she saw how frizzy her hair was. She worked her brush through it methodically, trying to smooth it out.

_And history books forgot about us and the bible didn't mention us--and the bible didn't mention us, not even once._

The brush wasn't helping. She'd shower in the morning, that should knock the rest of the frizz out. She pulled it all back into one braid. There was an incessant _tap-tap-tap_ sound coming from the bedroom.

_Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed._

Loki walked into her bedroom and turned on the light. The magpie was at the window, tapping it's beak against the glass. Her stomach lurched. The bird became more determined when it saw her. With trembling hands she opened the window and stepped back as the black and white bird hopped down from the sill and onto the nightstand. "Hello, Mr. Magpie." Loki bowed her head slightly and waited. The bird seemed to be studying her before it coughed up a pomegranate seed then turned and departed through the window once more. Loki slammed it shut.

She didn't want to read the message. It had been such a good day. She knew she couldn't avoid whatever news it was bringing, though. She waved her hand over the seed and it unfurled into a neatly folded square of parchment, the sealing wax bearing Hel's insignia.

_You are my sweetest downfall. I loved you first._

Loki opened the letter and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before reading Hel's elegant script.

_"Honored Father,_

_Thor goes to Midgard. I am not certain that is where you are, but I felt I must warn you. I feel as though there are serpants writhing in my gut. You have masked yourself from Heimdall well, mask youself from Thor. I know not his intent._

_With Affection,_

_Hel_

_Queen of Helheim"_

Loki ran to the bathroom before the contents of her stomach emptied. So much for such a wonderful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Was that "puddin' " enough, Sheila? :)
> 
> The song was "Samson" by Regina Spektor.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for all the wonderful feedback. This thing is up to 72 subscriptions and 3380 hits. Seriously, thank you all.


	30. Thor's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor arrives on Midgard.

Onheil didn't make an appearance two days later for her usual Sunday shift at the coffee shop. "She's your girlfriend, isn't she? Wouldn't you know what was up?" Steve shook his head at the manager's questions. She wasn't answering his phone calls. "She called out sick, asked for the week off. That chick's never sick. Figured it was a big deal, didn't ask questions." Steve thanked him for the information. "Maybe you should go over there?" Steve supposed the man was right. Somehow, he felt like Onheil would be displeased if he did. And if she was that ill and trying to rest, his being there wouldn't be helpful. When he got back to his apartment, he took out his phone.

_"You okay? I really need to hear from you. I'm worried. Please text me back."_

_" <3"_

Several hours later there was still no reply.

_"Please call me?"_

Steve fell asleep still waiting.

He couldn't get his mind off of the radio-silence during work on Monday. They'd received word from Dr. Foster over the weekend that Thor had arrived in New Mexico and she would be sending him over shortly. He arrived that afternoon.

Fury presented the bear of a man with a list of things that they wanted him to ask Heimdall upon his return to Asgard. "I am not sure what information Heimdall can give to you. He is all seeing, but he is not necessarily all knowing. Events may change. Foresight is not always reliable, especially when trying to predict the movements of ones so furtive as these." Any information would be helpful.

"I cannot simply keep travelling back and forth between Midgard and Asgard. It does take tremendous energy. You may not have your answers for a time."

"Actually," Bruce said, "We've been working on that." He explained, in the most layman's terms possible, the device that he, Tony, and Fitz-Simmons were working to create. "We're hoping that it can function sort of like a walkie-talking or the comms everyone uses on missions."

"You intend to implant a device _in my head_?"

Bruce shook his head and attempted to explain once more. They would be getting information from Dr. Foster on the energy signatures that are present when the Bifrost is open. Hopefully, the wavelength wouldn't differ between incoming and outgoing trips. That would complicate the math.

The rest of the day was spent working through possible offensive and defensive strategies based on the information slowly trickling in from Natasha and her team of Special Ops agents. In the evening, the Avengers retired to Stark Tower.

"So, Thunder Dome, how's it been?"

"There has been much unrest in Asgard since Loki's death." Steve couldn't tell if Thor looked sad or furious or both. He could tell that the veins in his neck and temples were standing out and his body had tensed. He was pretty sure Thor wanted to hit something or throw the Hammer resting on the table in front of him. "Father believes him to be wandering the roots of Yggdrasil. He summoned Loki's daughter to the palace for questioning."

"His daughter?"

"Yes, Hel." Thor noticed Clint's clear confusion and explained who Hel was. He related the story of her visit. "She was not pleased, to say the very least."

"Do you think she knows where Loki...Where his spirit...soul...?" Steve wasn't sure how to refer to the disembodied Trickster.

"No, I do not think she knows. I believe she was insulted. Loki did not raise her, but they did have a distantly affectionate relationship. She cares for him. She believed he deserved honor, as did I."

Evidently, the Aesir were in an uproar over the young queen's behavior, calling for her to be controlled or dethroned or at the very least very closely supervised for her behavior and her statements. They feared a body-less, vengeful Loki would inflict more serious mischief than the corporeal man ever did.

JARVIS chimed in during a lull in the conversation, "Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts' plane has just landed. She will be arriving in the helipad shortly."

"Thanks, Jarve." Tony attempted to smooth his hair into a better sense of order with his hands. "She's been in Tokyo trying to get some of their big electronics companies to contribute to the foundations. Last time I spoke to her she'd decided to throw together a benefit to pull in more donations. I've been going through applicant files for the past few days. I kind of just want to hand them all money. They all have such amazing resumes. And they're driven. Most of them can't really afford college on their own--who in this city really can anymore of you're not a trust fund kid? How am I supposed to choose? What if the one I don't pick is the one who's supposed to cure cancer?"

"Sounds like you've got an army of Fitz-Simmonses to support." Tony laughed, it did seem that way.

Pepper arrived and greeted them all warmly. She immediately launched into talking about the benefit she was planning. "Bruce and Tony are absolutely required to attend. And I think that you should try to get those two other agents to come as well. The new ones. They sounds like serious role models. And far more accessible to the kids that will be there then you two." Tony feigned offence. Bruce shrugged in compliance. He was living under Tony and Pepper's roof, imposing on their hospitality. The least he could do was show up at a dinner and do some shmoozing to get money for the next generation of scientists.

Pepper's eyes brightened. "We should invite Dr. Foster and Selvig. And Darcy. Even though she's not really a scientist. It would be nice to have a few ladies there to balance out all the testosterone." She sat up straight. "Why don't the Avengers come too? Steve, Clint? And Natasha? Where is Natasha? Thor, clearly."

Thor shook his head. He would be returning to New Mexico to see Jane on the morrow and then depart for Asgard. "The Allfather is preparing for Odinsleep. I have duties that I must attend to. And Jane must take her measurements to help Stark and Banner with their device. I will extend your invitation to her, though."

"Spangles! You should bring your girlfriend."

"I'll ask her. I haven't heard from her in a few days, though."

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No, I don't think so. We were supposed to go to a museum last week. When I called her to see if she was ready to go she said she was sick. I heard she'd called out of work for the week yesterday. She's not answering my messages."

"You have found a lady? I am glad for you, Captain. You did not seem happy always on your own." Thor clapped Steve on the shoulder with force that made his body sway.

"Oh, she's a looker! And funny. And pretty freakin' smart. Knows just the right questions to ask. Catches on quick." He looked up wistfully, "If I'd only met her first!" Pepper smacked him across the side of the head playfully. She knew she had nothing to worry about. "Seems like she's putty in Capsicle's hands, though. Don't think anyone else has a chance with her." Tony turned to Steve, "You got a picture for show and tell?" Surprisingly, he didn't.

Pepper turned to face Steve, a concerned look on her face, and interrupted Tony as he was beginning to suggest pulling up JARVIS' security feed from the night Onheil and Steve came over for dinner. The thought was forgotten. "You haven't heard from her since last week?" Steve nodded. "Maybe you should check on her. Go over to her place? This is that girl you'd been... _interested in_?" Steve blushed and nodded. He didn't think she would be appreciative of a surprise appearance. She was a fairly private person when everything boiled down. Pepper frowned.

Bruce was uncharacteristically reserved, even for Bruce. He insisted nothing was amiss.

The group eased into non-work subjects, attempting to relax in front of the sleek, modern fireplace in the living room. Clint, Thor, and Steve nursed beers while Tony stuck to his scotch and Pepper sipped wine; Bruce preferred to keep his wits about him and declined adult beverages. Steve pulled out his sketchbook when the conversation drifted into subjects that bored him because he did not have a completely firm grasp on them.

Thor moved closer to Steve, ever interested in men who displayed skills or inclinations that were not common in his own world of warriors. "I am ever puzzled by you, Captain. You create such things of beauty." Steve smiled, embarrassed by the compliment, and thanked Thor. The large man leaned in to see more clearly what Steve was working on. "Why do you commit my brother's likeness to paper?"

"What?" Steve had been drawing Onheil. They way she looked standing in the kitchen that night, the fur throw from the couch wrapped around her, looking over her shoulder, her eyes and forehead just visible. He'd elaborated on the scene. There were pale outlines of the woods around her. She wasn't stirring a pot but holding a staff of twisted, gnarled ash. She wore a crown of the same. He'd only colored in her green eyes and added blue highlights to her black hair. It was otherwise mostly unfinished. Thor's thick index finger moved over the curve of the twigs twisting back and away from her head, careful not to smudge the pencil. "These look like his helmet. And the eyes..."

Steve shook his head. "No, she's just a nature spirit...or something." He wasn't sure he wanted to share anything about the actual subject. It had been a private night that had inspired the piece. A night that had been intimate and special without requiring getting physical.

"Ah, but Loki _is_ a nature spirit." Thor indicated the fireplace, flame crackling happily. "He is flame and warmth and light. The spirit of the hearth."

"Really? Is that why his daughters have those names?" Steve couldn't remember the Norse words. "Ember and...Ash?"

Thor nodded, "Yes. Ember and Ash born of Flame and Glow." He smiled. "I see you have done some reading." Steve nodded. He'd wanted to understand more about Thor and Loki after the battle. "And what did you come to know?"

"That he wasn't always like that."

"No, surely not." Thor looked sad. He visibly shook off the feeling and turned his attention back to the drawing in Steve's hands. "The fur, as well, is quite characteristic of my brother. He always favored the texture over leather and armor. I suppose it made more sense when he was revealed as Jotun. His feet were always so cold!" Thor smiled genuinely. Steve was in awe of the way Thor spoke about his brother, how completely different the Loki he was describing was from the Loki Steve had met. "Father eventually insisted he abandon the furs when we began accompanying him into battle or on diplomatic visits for a more 'dignified' Aesir look. Mother always ensured there was an element of it in Loki's robes, though. A collar or a half cape, the lining of his boots or the cuffs of his sleeves. She was forever doting on him."

Thor asked if he could observe Steve working. Steve didn't mind. He'd never seen Thor this way, quiet and content and not focused on defeating the enemy. "You talk about Loki like he's still alive," Steve said after a long pause.

"Just because his body is dead does not mean his spirit is." Steve nodded. It made sense. It wasn't too far off from his concept of Eternal Life.

The following morning, shortly after Thor departed, Steve's phone buzzed to indicate he'd received a message.

_"Sorry. Fine. Still sick. Please don't come."_

It wasn't a lot, but it was something.

_"Do you need anything? Please let me come over."_ No answer.

***

Loki thought she was beginning to understand for herself what Steve had felt like during that week he didn't leave his apartment. The first night, she'd been paralyzed. She sat at the edge of the bed, awake and hyperalert. Every sound from the street or from the building settling was Thor and the Warriors Three crashing through the wall to seize her. By the third day she was able to move but couldn't find the motivation to move beyond the doorway of the bedroom. The following day, the rumbling in her stomach and the lightness in her head forced her into the kitchen. She had left the safety of the fur throw and the small couch only to get food from the fridge, a supply that was beginning to dwindle, or to use the bathroom. She'd begun falling into micronaps. Full sleep alluded her and she wasn't sure she wanted to leave herself that vulnerable. When it had been a full week, her kitchen was empty. She knew she needed to venture outside soon. She refused to survive being stabbed by that Elf just to starve to death.

Her days were punctuated by the change of light and messages from Steve that arrived on a predicable schedule. She read few of them and answered fewer, just enough to keep him from trying to come over. Where the Captain was, Thor was sure to follow.

On the second Saturday following Hel's message, Loki ventured outside.

***

Steve was worrying in earnest. He wanted to respect Onheil's privacy. He didn't want to force his presence on her if she wasn't well. She clearly needed rest. He'd entertained more than once the idea of calling the local PD to perform a wellness check or to simply call for an ambulance and send them over there. That wouldn't be right, though. He'd learned the hard way that it wasn't his place to force help onto people. He was just so worried.

Finally, on the second Saturday after he'd last seen her, Steve decided enough was enough. He was going over there whether she liked it or not, privacy be damned. The few responses he'd received from her were more troubling than the silences. He needed to hear her voice, even if it was only through the intercom when he buzzed her apartment.

As he approached her building, he saw someone carrying a package of groceries walking up the stoop. They put down the bag and fished in their pocket. The person's body was obscured by the over-sized hoodie and ill-fitting jeans. All he really noticed was how pale the person's hands were as they fumbled with their keys in the lock. Steve jogged to catch up before the person closed the door. He didn't want to miss the opportunity to go right up to the apartment for himself and knock on the door.

When he got closer, there was no mistaking the boots that the jeans were tucked into. He smiled and went up the steps, reaching out to wrap his arms around Onheil's waist.

He never got the chance to greet her properly. No sooner did his arms encircle her waist, a shriek pitched to shatter eardrums ripped through her lips. The keys fell from her hands and she leveraged her body against him, kicking out her feet and clawing at his hands. He held her closer, "Onheil!" She wasn't listening. "Onheil!"

Steve attempted to turn her to face him, narrowly avoiding topping backward down the stairs. He was positive that was her intent. "Onheil! Its me! Calm down!" He was shouting. He squeezed his eyes shut. She seemed feral as she lashed out at him, all fingernails and open-hand slaps, the toe of her boot made contact with his shins more than once. He let go of her and she backed toward the door, her hands up in a defensive position. 

She looked so very like she had that very first night in the rain. Her eyes were surrounded by dark, bruise-like hallows as if she had not slept in some time. Her face looked thin and gaunt. Her hands were trembling. Her lips were chapped like she'd spent time sucking and chewing nervously. The skin around her nails was red and raw. With the hood down, her hair hung limply around her face though wildly tangled. She searched his face as she slumped down her body sinking toward the concrete landing.

"Onheil. Its me. Its Steve. _Please,_ calm down." What the heck had happened? It was like she'd had a mental break. She looked like the physical embodiment of the way he felt during a major episode. He thanked the Lord that no one seemed to be out of the street to see her like this.

Her hands dropped into her lap. Her knees bent and she drew them in toward her chest as if going into the fetal position while sitting up. _"Please."_ Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please don't let them take me." She just kept mumbling, tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks, large and glistening in the afternoon light. Steve knelt and wrapped his arms around her, wincing when the long scratches on his face made contact with the salty slickness of her own. "Never."

***

This was it. They'd come to drag her back to Asgard and prison. Or perhaps they'd bring her back to Svartalfheim and make sure she didn't leave alive. All she knew was that she would not go without a fight. She wished she had a dagger on her.

But then there was Steve's face and Steve's face alone. It had been he who had grabbed her. She should have known. His arms around her waist were a familiar and welcome presence. His face. His beautiful face. Marked with five angry red abrasions across one side and over his nose. Had she done that? Guilt crashed over her like a wave on the beach as she sunk toward the ground. _"Please."_ She could do nothing but implore him for help in place of begging forgiveness. Even shamed, she could only think of self-preservation.

"Never." He breathed as he wrapped his arms around her. For the first time, she felt he truly meant it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then! That was a bit of a roller-coaster.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it. I couldn't make Onheil go away just yet. I like writing her too much!
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading and for the wonderful feedback! I shall be sure to include a link or something to the one-shot I've been writing in the end notes for the next chapter once they're both finished.
> 
> Have wonderful weekends, or what is left of them!


	31. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve decides that enough is enough.

Steve pulled away and held Onheil at arm's length by the shoulders. "Stay here. I'm going to go up and put your groceries away. I'm bringing you home." Her face was bright red. She was at the point of hyperventilation, coughing and hiccuping. Steve wasn't sure she was listening to him. He studied her face. She wouldn't look at him, not in the eye at least. "You weren't really sick, were you?" She shook her head sharply from side to side, making her hair get stuck to the moist skin of her cheeks. "I'll be right back. Catch your breath."

Steve picked her keys up off the ground and opened the door. He took the stairs two at a time and let himself into Onheil's apartment. The air was stagnant, like the windows hadn't been opened in a while. He opened her fridge and saw that the shelves were mostly bare. He stood in the middle of the living room, turning around for a moment, trying to get his bearings after putting the groceries away. He moved into the bedroom and grabbed the duffel bag she used for laundry.

Paintings in various states of unfinished still occupied space on the floor against the wall. The easel had been commandeered in favor of air-drying fully fashioned stockings. They made him think of shed snake skins, still partially holding the shape of Onheil's foot. The stockings seemed to shiver as he walked by. The garter belt on the floor made that shiver run up Steve's spine. He shook his head, he had to get a grip. She was downstairs on the stoop, terrified and falling apart.

He opened her closet and dug out a few pairs of jeans and some shirts. He knelt and opened the drawers she'd built from a kit in the bottom of the closet. She'd been quite proud that she hadn't once hit her thumb with the hammer. He closed his eyes and plunged his hand into the top drawer. Everything was silky and slithery and lacy. The handful he grabbed went into the bag and the drawer was closed. The second was slightly less embarrassing, at least he'd seen her in one of these before. He didn't know if she wore a new one every day. He took two and tucked them away. The bottom drawer was easier. Her collection of socks in every style, pattern, and length possible never failed to amuse him. Satisfied with clothes, he moved on to the bathroom to retrieve her tooth and hair brushes. He hesitated for a moment in the living room before folding the fur throw from the couch up haphazardly and taking that, too.

He locked the door behind himself and took the stairs back down two at a time.

Onheil was perched on the edge of the top step. Her shoulders were hunched forward, her hood back up over her head. A person Steve recognized as the doorman from the building across the street was bent down in front of her. "Are you _sure_ everything is okay? I heard you scream. Was he hurting you?"

The man put his hand on her shoulder and she flinched hard then visibly tensed. " _No._ " She drew in a ragged breath. "No. No. No. No. Not _him._ "

Steve approached and lowered himself down beside Onheil. "It's my fault," he said. "She's going through some personal stuff. I startled her." Steve peeled Onheil's hand away from her knee and rubbed it between his own. The doorman studied him, trying to decide whether or not to involve himself further.

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes. _Yes._ Yes."

"You're sure you want to be near him?"

"Yes. Yes. _Yes._ "

"Onheil, do you want to go home?" Her eyes widened and she turned her gaze on him and gripped his hand. She looked haunted. "Not with _them._ Home with _me._ " Her body relaxed. Her grip on his hand loosened. She nodded.

Onheil rose from the step. Steve thanked the doorman for his concern. He started to walk back to his post, his eyes never leaving the pair. "C'mon." Steve threaded his fingers through Onheil's, adjusted the bundle under his other arm, and led her toward his own building.

Steve didn't try to speak to her until they were safe within his apartment. He led her to the couch and dropped the bag on the floor. He shook the fur out and draped it around her shoulders. She immediately clutched the edges of it and closed it around herself. Steve knelt before her and unlaced her boots, gently removing them. It earned a nervous giggle from the cocoon the legs were sticking out from. The feet were immediately snatched up and disappeared into the cocoon as well.

Steve lifted himself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table. "Onheil. What happened?"

She let the fur fall away from her face and pool around her shoulders. It took her a long moment of opening and closing her mouth to answer, like she couldn't find words. "Muh-mmm-my b-brother."

"He's here? In New York?"

She nodded. "A...a friend-d c-contacted mmm-e. Wah-warned me." Her eyes brimmed with tears again. "I-I-I th-thought..."

Steve's heart broke for her. Clearly Onheil's home-life had been far worse than she had allowed him to believe. It wasn't just an issue of broken relationships and an inheritance dispute. It was an issue with having been broken herself. He moved to sit next to her and put his arms around her. She opened her own and allowed him inside the fur. "What did they do to you?" She let out a choked sob. Steve kissed her forehead and shushed her gently. "You're _safe._ I won't let them have you. I _promise._ I've promised since the day we met. That's _never_ going to change." He was met with relative silence.

Several hours later, when Steve was beyond hunger but refused to move to take care of himself, Onheil had exhausted herself into uneasy sleep. It took a while longer for her to release her grip on his shirt and her body to relax into full-out slumber.

***

Loki woke feeling like she'd drunk an entire cask of dwarvish ale on her own. Her eyes felt like they were on fire. Her body was stiff and one arm was full of pins and needles.

She knew she was in Steve's home. On his couch. She still took a moment to absorb her surroundings. It was evening judging by the relative darkness in the room. The light in the kitchen was on. The faint smell of grilled-cheese hung in the air. She thought there was water running somewhere. She didn't see Steve.

Light panic settled over her until she saw him smiling softly at her from the hall. "Ah! Sleeping Beauty awakens!" She shook her head and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry." The scratches on his face had faded to barely pink thanks to his serum-induced healing ability. He told her she had nothing to apologize for.

"I thought you might like a bath. To relax." He shuffled his feet and looked at her hesitantly. A bath sounded wonderful. He smiled.

Steve left her alone to undress after handing her his bathrobe. She called him back after she'd lowered herself into the piping hot water, amused at the fact that he'd even thought to fill the tub with bubbles. Steve hovered at the door, "If there's anything you need, let me know. Anything. Okay?" He started to walk away.

"S." He stopped.

"T-E-V-E." Loki shook her head.

"His name."

"Your brother?"

"My son. His name begins with an S." He nodded and turned to leave again.

"Stay." He hesitated before stepping into the bathroom.

***

Steve lowered himself to the floor and sat cross-legged so that he would be at eye-level with the woman in his tub. He propped his head on his elbow against the low shelf against the wall, stocked with folded towels.

She soaked. She asked him about work. He told her about Thor and what he understood about the communication device that was being developed. "Thor had to leave though. Something about his father needing to take a nap." That earned a derisive snort. Onheil picked up a handful of bubbles and blew them toward him. He laughed and sputtered as they hit his face.

Slowly, over the time it took for the water to cool and the bubbles to disappear, Onheil told him her story in between inquiries about how his week had been while she had been _ill._ Bit by bit, she wove a tale of neglect and abuse.

"Mother wasn't a bad person. I knew she loved me. She was just...always silent. She never spoke up against Father. I think that sometimes she was as afraid as I was. My brother never contradicted him either, even when we were close, even when he knew Father was wrong or had gone too far. Our relationship just...fell apart, eventually."

Steve was amazed that the scar on her chest was the only one her skin showed, as far as he could tell. She told him vaguely about an accident, after her mother died. She'd allowed her family to believe her dead and hadn't looked back. "I had to leave."

"But, Onheil, you left your child with them."

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I couldn't take him. It was impossible. They would know. I left with the clothes on my back and nothing else." She opened her eyes and looked down and her hands through the filmy water. "I told you, he is well looked after. My parents never cared for him directly. The...nursery staff did. They wouldn't allow anyone to harm a single hair on his head. He was quite loved, even if I could not extend the same myself."

Steve wasn't quite satisfied with her explanation, but he didn't know the situation first hand. He'd never had to fear for his safety from his own family. He'd never had to make a decision quite like she had. He had to accept what she said as truth.

"But, if you let everyone think you were dead, how could a friend warn you about your brother?"

"She's the only one who knows."

Onheil indicated that the water had cooled too much and she'd like to get out. Steve held up his robe and closed his eyes while she slipped her arms into it and tied it closed. He realized it was a signal that she'd reached her limit for sharing personal details at the moment. Pushing her for more would only make her close off. He knew from experience. "I brought clothes and stuff for you." He went and retrieved the bag from her apartment. "I forgot pajamas, though. You can have another pair of mine." She thanked him and he left her brushing out her now wet and tangled hair.

Onheil emerged again in the fresh pair of sweats and tee shirt that he'd left laid out for her. Steve had made her a grilled-cheese of her own. She ate it standing in the kitchen while he cleaned the frying pan. It had gotten late. Steve offered to take the couch. She insisted otherwise. "Then come sleep with me." She shook her head. She was grateful for the safety of his apartment and his affection, but she preferred to be alone. Steve begrudgingly brought her a pillow and she hunkered down once again under the fur throw. He kissed her cheek and retreated to his bed for the night.

***

Loki couldn't sleep. Just as in her own home, every sound was an Aesir come to retrieve her. Steve had said that Thor had gone back to Dr. Foster in New Mexico. Even if he was still on Midgard, he was thousands of miles away and presumably had no idea that Loki was even alive, let alone was here. Still, she could not bring herself to get settled enough for sleep to come.

Loki left the couch with her fur wrapped around herself like a cloak and crept quietly toward Steve's bedroom. She crawled onto the wide bed beside him and inched her way over to mold her body to his.

"I love you," she whispered into the darkness.

She tensed as Steve stirred and turned toward her. It seemed to be more on instinct that he slipped his arms around her, burrowing under the fur himself and holding her close.

***

Steve was sleeping very lightly; he woke when heard the floorboards creek slightly. He could feel weight on the opposite side of the bed. He felt the familiar warmth and contours of Onheil's body against his back.

"I love you," she whispered. He knew she thought him asleep. He turned and held her close to himself, tucking her body into his own as if he could make the two of them merge into one. She wrapped her arms and legs into and around him possessively.

Steve waited until Onheil's breathing deepened and her fingers on his hip relaxed. "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter. I was getting a little overwhelmed with the emotional content. I hope it wasn't as roughly written as I felt it was getting.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. Updates may be a little slow this week as well.


	32. You Can't Stay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve deals with Loki's issues.

"Your fingers are frozen."

Steve knew Onheil was awake when the pattern of her breath changed. She'd woken several times during the night. Once she'd been shaking so hard, she woke herself. Once, she woke herself sobbing. Once, Steve'd had to wake her, she was gripping his hair so tightly he feared she was going to rip the flesh from his scull. When she'd released his hair, her arms and legs had only locked more securely around his body. Steve wasn't sure when or how either of them had finally fallen into real slumber.

It was the early moments of full-out morning. The sun had risen in earnest. He'd extricated his arm from the tangle of their bodies and smacked his alarm off just before it had buzzed with the first glow of dawn. He'd decided it was best to break routine and skip his run. He was considering skipping Mass as well. God would understand.

Onheil had worked her fingers under the hem of his tee shirt and they had been steadily inching under the waistband of his sweats at his hip. Goosebumps rose on his flesh at her cool touch. "Sorry." She withdrew her hand and tucked it against her chest between them. "Shall I wear gloves as well as socks to bed next time?" Steve chuckled and kissed the top of her head. He ran his fingers though her hair and kneaded her shoulder.

"You're a terrible influence you know."

"I am?"

"I skipped my run."

"You can go for one later."

"I'm skipping Mass."

"Don't."

"You're not the boss of me."

"You won't forgive yourself."

"Maybe not. But God will. You're more important right now."

"Thank you."

They stayed in bed, drifting in and out of light slumber, waking briefly to kiss and touch and reassure, until the need for a bathroom and breakfast grew too great. "Do you remember last night at all?" Steve placed an over-sized mug of tea in front of her before he rummaged through the cupboard for the jar of organic honey Onheil had brought home from the farmer's market several weeks ago. It had begun to crystallize, but she insisted it was still okay to eat as she spooned it into the mug. She didn't remember much of last night beyond sneaking into Steve's bed.

"You're not a very good sneak."

"You...you were awake?"

"I heard the floor creak."

Onheil's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed pink. The blush could have easily been mistaken for an effect of the steam against her face as she hid behind the mug.

"I mostly remember having nightmares." Steve rubbed the back of his head. He remembered them too. "I haven't actually slept." Steve could tell that much by how awful she looked. "I mean...since I got the message from my friend."

"You haven't slept in over a week?"

"Yes."

"Well then. That explains a lot." Steve asked her what her nightmares had been about. It usually helped him to talk about his own, whether it was with Onheil or with Dr. Cooper. Although, it had taken quite some time for Steve to trust the man again after the TV interview debacle. It was only Onheil's insistence that the segment had turned out positively and that Steve had made it through the day quite well that had made him go back to his regular sessions. "I don't really want to talk about it."

***

Loki had dreamt of Germany. Rather than fighting, he and the Captain had faced the other Avengers head-on. They'd held their position stop the steps for some time. Then Thor had arrived. He struck Loki with Mjolnir and sent him crashing back through the doors. Loki found he could not rise and could not heft the hammer's weight off of his pelvis. He was pinned to the spot, unable to do anything but watch as if he were a macabre theater patron while the man he refused to call his brother beat down the man he called his darling.

Loki screamed and thrashed against the rubble and the weight of the hammer. He tried to disappear but could not achieve it. His legs were beginning to go numb. How could he help Steven if he could not feel his legs?

"No!" He screamed as the Captain's eyes rolled back. Thor struck a final blow and the Captain's body went limp. Thor released his crushing grip on the gleaming white and bloodied star. Steve fell in a heap, the shield still strapped to his arm making a deafening clatter against the ground that seemed to vibrate through the concrete and travel up Loki's body. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably in rhythm with the violent trembling in his whole body.

Thor walked casually away from the body on the ground and approached Loki. When the hammer was lifted off him, blood and feeling rushed back into his legs painfully. 

He did not have the strength to walk. He rose and stumbled and crawled to his darling Captain. "Steve." He shook the Captain's shoulders. "Steven?" He gripped the blue fabric tightly. "Steve, _please._ You promised me. You said you wouldn't let them. Please!" Loki fumbled with the masked helmet, trying to be gentle but finally ripping it off of Steve's head. He pushed the cowl back and ran his fingers through the blonde hair, damp with sweat and discolored by blood. He curled his fingers into the once lovely golden strands and curled his body over his love.

Loki could hear the thunk of Thor's boots against the pavement behind them. _"No."_ He felt strong hands seize the back of his coat. Loki's grip on the front of Steve's uniform and the back of his head tightened, as if the lifeless body could still anchor him here to this block of cement pavement in the middle of Germany on Midgard. Loki didn't stop screaming until the muzzle was firmly in place around his lower face.

His hands were forced to release their holdings, his wrists bound in shackles. The Warriors Three and Sif had arrived to ensure there was no chance of escape. Loki did not care that they witnessed his grief as hot, salty sadness rolled down over his cheeks.

When Loki woke, she was relieved. It had all felt so incredibly real, though she knew she'd been dreaming since it was _fucking_ Germany, again. _Always Germany._ She had needed to feel the warmth of Steve's skin under her fingers, the rush of his pulse strong and steady just below the surface. She'd hoped he wouldn't waken, but evidently he'd already done that some time ago.

Loki's face grew hot when Steve told her he'd also been awake last night when she had gone to his bed. In hindsight, it was obvious. She was mortified. Steve didn't mention her whispered confession. It made her wonder whether he was trying to save her embarrassment because he didn't feel the same way.

The following day, Loki insisted that Steve go to work as usual. After he'd left she ventured down to the basement and shoved the fur throw into the high capacity washing machine. It was woefully synthetic, but at least that meant it could be easily cleaned. When it came out of the dryer, fluffy and warm, she brought it back up the stairs and wrapped herself in it once again. 

Burrowed inside the faux pelt, she was struck by the thought that it was so very like the colors of Fenrir's fur and so very like the pelt of the _thing_ that Vali was turned into. She'd avoided telling Steve about her other children, still holding fast to the thought that telling him, even vaguely, about Sleipnir, was a mistake. He'd clearly understood the horror that was her life even without the gruesome image of herself bound to three stones with her child's guts. Not to say, she had not considered it--telling him about the others. But, she had an image to uphold. A Midgardian woman around the age she appeared and of the economic family status she claimed, would not, however, have likely given birth to more than one child. The one would probably have been an accident, a foolish mistake. She felt shame to think that Sleipnir was a mistake. Yes, his conception had not been her intent, but she loved him too fiercely for him to have been a mistake.

The fur stroked her face and she sobbed. Her sweet Vali, turned into a monster to do a monstrous thing. Her innocent Narfi, condemned to die in retribution for Baldr's death. A death that was not entirely her fault. The sink in the kitchen was dripping. The sound rattled her, so like the sound of the venom hitting the bottom of Sigyn's bowl after she emptied it, so like the sound of the poison drops hitting her flesh and burning it while Sigyn was away.

Loki's skin crawled at the thought. She pulled the fur tighter around herself, trying to drown out the sound of the drip in the sink. She clawed at her skin, trying to relieve the burning itch of memory.

***

Steve made the lengthy trip home at lunchtime. He'd stay an extra hour or so in the evening to make up for it. He needed to check on Onheil. She wasn't answering his texts.

Steve walked into his apartment and was confused. It was cool out, but it seemed like someone had turned the heat up. He could hear the water in the shower running, it cut off as he approached the bathroom. "Onheil?" He eased the door open, steam came pouring out as if he'd opened the door to a sauna. That explained the warmth of the apartment. "Onheil?" She looked up at him as she wrapped a towel around her body. Her arms and legs were covered in scratches, in some places the skin was broken. Her flesh was pinkened from the clearly too hot water.

"What did you do?"

"Hmm?" She looked at him, confusion clear on her face.

"Onheil. You're covered in scratches. _What_ did you do?"

She leaned forward and looked down. "Oh." She looked up at him. "My skin was crawling."

Steve gave her an horrified look. "You did that to yourself?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, I suppose so." She looked like she was considering something, hesitant to speak. "The detergent. It made me itch. I couldn't help it. I showered to stop the itching." She pushed past him and pointed at the basket full of neatly folded clothing in the living room. "I washed my blanket. I decided to do your laundry as well." Steve's body visibly relaxed.

"You're okay?" She nodded. "You're sure there's nothing wrong?"

"The only thing wrong is that you are not at work where you belong."

"You weren't answering my messages."

"My phone is not charged."

"You can use my charger."

"It does not fit."

Steve sighed in frustration. "I'm going to call the house phone then."

"As you wish."

"Don't mock me, Dread Pirate."

"What?"

Steve shook his head. He would make her watch the movie tonight. He could hardly believe she hadn't seen it. Steve's phone started buzzing in his pocket. It was Fury. Natasha had arrived back at SHIELD. "See? They need you. I do not, at the moment. Get back to work." She shooed him out the door. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

***

When Steve returned for the evening, Loki felt incredibly guilty. She apologized profusely and curled into his lap when he sat down beside her. "I am sorry I frightened you." Steve rubbed her back in long, slow strokes and told her it was okay. Clearly, he was still concerned, but he seemed to be willing to allow her not to discuss it. "I'm here if you need me." She curled more closely to him.

"You must fix the sink. That is what I need. It is driving me to insanity." Steve chuckled and said he would check it out later.

***

On Tuesday evening, Steve attempted to return to his normal routine as much as he could. Breaking habit was beginning to make him nervous. The others had started to notice. He'd told them he had finally heard from Onheil, that she was okay, but he hadn't told them what exactly was going on. It wasn't their business. He knew Onheil would be upset if he shared her personal struggles with his team.

Steve felt relaxed for the first time in days when he walked into the coffee shop and the warmth and scent of roasted coffee beans hit him. "Hey!" The manager waved amiably as Steve approached the counter. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

Steve smiled and acknowledged the man was correct. He continued to speak while he poured Steve's coffee. "I was getting worried. Haven't seen you and Onehil hasn't answered her phone. Rumor 'round the neighborhood was she got attacked by some psycho. Doorman from one of the buildings down there saw the whole thing, tried to get her to call the cops, but she wouldn't."

The color drained from Steve's face. "No, she wasn't attacked. I...I kind of startled her, she screamed and freaked out. She'd been pretty sick, hadn't slept well in a while. She was kind of edgy. It was my fault." The lie of Onheil having been sick rolled easily off his tongue. "She's been with me since Saturday."

The tension felt almost palpable until the shop manager laughed. "At least she's okay. She coming back to work any time soon?" Business had picked up with the cooler weather. If Onheil didn't come back to work, he'd have to hire someone else soon.

On Wednesday, it looked as if Onheil had no intention of ever leaving Steve's apartment again. "You can't stay here _forever_. What are the chances that your brother knows you're alive, let alone in New York? What are the chances you'll run into him?" He knew how cruel his words sounded as they left his lips. He immediately regretted them when Onheil's eyes welled up with tears. She didn't say a word. She simply put down the spoon she'd been using to stir the pot of sauce on the stove with, and walked out of the kitchen.

"Onheil, I'm sorry. That didn't come out right." She ignored him, walking back into the bedroom and shoving her clothes into her bag. She shoved her feet into her boots and walked toward the door. "Onheil!" Steve put his hand on her arm, trying to stop her from opening the door. "Onheil, _please,_ don't go. I'm sorry." She wrenched her arm from his grasp and yanked the door open. It hit the wall hard enough that Steve was sure there would be a knob-shaped dent in the sheet-rock. "I'm _sorry_!" She disappeared down the stairs.

Steve didn't know what to do, whether to follow her or not. She was so _moody_. The _slightest_ thing could set her off. She never let him _explain_. Steve slammed the door shut in frustration. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Here's the link to the one-shot I mentioned I was working on in an earlier chapter:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1160291


	33. Rewind and Over-Write

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki find their way back.

Loki went back to work, back into the world. She found she had quite a bit of grovelling and apologizing to do. That was certainly new. She was thankful to have been given shifts during the day. She didn't want to look Steve in the eye. She was angry and hurt. She felt betrayed and used. Clearly, he didn't have the same feelings for her that she found she had for him. He wanted the physical and then had gotten scared. He didn't want the emotional. He didn't want something broken. He didn't want to have to pick up the pieces and help to put her back together.

It was the first week of October. Loki sat and looked at the costume she'd prepared for the Midgardian autumn holiday festivities. She'd gotten it for Steve. In her research into Midgardian women's fashion, she'd come across plenty of pictures of USO girls. They led her to grainy photographs of Steve on something called a bond tour, surrounded by women in skimpy versions of his suit. The costume went into the box with her transformed Asgardian robes and went back onto the farthest corner of the shelf in the top of her closet, the blue M1 helmet on top.

Loki may have been avoiding Steve, but that didn't mean that he was avoiding her. The text messages came on a predictable schedule. They usually contained some form of apology. Sometimes they sounded angry or frustrated--she knew that when there were misspellings that weren't intentional abbreviations. Sometimes they were pleading. She ignored them all.

At the end of the first week of October, she had a visitor. When the light knock sounded against her door, Loki didn't realize what it was at first. She never had visitors, she hadn't ordered any food, and she hadn't buzzed anyone into the building.

***

Steve had looked for a size in Onheil's boots one morning while she was in the shower. He couldn't find one. They actually looked like they'd been custom made. They were molded to the shape of her foot from wear. He'd never noticed how soft and supple the leather was in all of the times he'd knelt in front of her to take them off her feet. It surprised him until he remembered she said she came from a wealthy family. He'd ripped out a page from one of his sketchbooks and traced the outline of the shoe. He would do anything to be kneeling in front of her again.

After Steve's stupid words and Onheil's departure, he'd wanted to figure out a way to get back into her good graces. After leaving the Tower one evening, he marched himself into the Champ's on 42nd, armed with the torn out sketchbook pages. He stood in front of the wall of women's running shoes, completely confused. A sales girl approached him, "Are you Captain America?"

"What?" Steve hadn't heard her whole statement, he was vaguely aware of her speaking to him.

"You are!" _Oh goodness._ "I, um, I just wanted to say thank you. My sister just came home. She's kind of...messed up. After your interview, we got her into a program with the VA." Steve smiled and said she was welcome, but he hadn't done anything. "Can I help you? I think you're on the wrong side of the store."

"I need running shoes." He thrust the pages toward her. "To fit these feet." The girl's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline, but she said she would help him.

"You don't know the size?"

"Nope." She had an idea. She disappeared for a moment and came back with a pair of scissors and a Brannock device. "We can cut out the shape and measure it!" Steve couldn't help but be a little bit amazed at the girl's resourcefulness. He would have been standing there for hours, placing a shoe on the outline and seeing if it would fit.

The following day, Steve was going to deliver them to Onheil as a peace offering. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over her doorbell. He couldn't do it. He knew she'd ignore the buzzer just like she'd been ignoring his texts. If she did answer she'd probably tell him to go away. "Hey, mister! I gotta get through!"

Steve turned and recognized the boy behind him, bike balanced precariously on the steps, helmet strapped to his head, as belonging in the building. "You tryin'a see Ellie?"

"Who?"

"Ellie. The lady that lives down the hall. I've seen you kissin' 'er." The boy narrowed his eyes at Steve who tried his hardest to keep the laugh he could feel behind his lips. He nodded. "She's been sad, you know." He bumped his bike up the rest of the stairs onto the landing. "Did you dump her?" No, he hadn't. He was here to try and cheer her up. He indicated the box wrapped in green paper under his arm.

"I'll tell you what," Steve held the box out to the boy. "If you give her this, I'll help you get that upstairs."

The boy shook his head. "Nope. I shouldn't be talking to you anyway. You're a stranger, _Captain America_." Steve raised his eyebrow. "I'll tell _you_ what. I'm going to get my mom. _She_ can talk to you." The boy pulled his bike inside and leaned it up against the wall in the small lobby after carefully closing the door behind himself, barring Steve's entrance. He returned a few moments later, helmet still on, dragging a clearly overworked mother behind him, a toddler on her hip. "See, I _told_ you!"

Steve explained to the woman that he was trying to surprise Onheil. She looked at him critically, but took the box from him. "What's in it?" Steve told her. "Oh gosh. I don't think she'll like that. Those boots are practically grafted onto her feet." Precisely. "Captain Rogers? For the record, I think you're a good guy. But I think you seriously screwed up with that girl. I'm not sure shoes are going to help." He could only try. He offered to bring the boy's bike up to the apartment, but evidently it was to be left locked up in the lobby. He thanked the woman and left.

***

Loki picked up the package, wrapped in green paper, off the floor in front of her door and brought it inside, wary and confused. She put it down on the coffee table beside the Victrola that was steadily turning its way through Stairway to Heaven. She glared at the package and circled it like a cat closing in on prey the rest of the evening. She finally opened it before she retired to bed. There was a small manila envelope taped to the top of a cardboard box. She pulled it off and opened it up. Inside was a folded piece of paper and another envelope made of heavy paper and sealed with bright red wax.

_Come to the Ball with me, Cinderella. Or at least out for a run._

_I can't find words enough to say that I'm sorry. I miss you._

_\--Steve_

Loki scowled and set the note aside. She broke the wax and opened the second envelope. It contained an invitation and a ticket for the benefit that Steve had mentioned Stark's lady was planning. Something about sending someone to school. Evidently, it was to be a masquerade and was set for several days before Halloween. Loki set the invitation and ticket aside with the envelope and turned her attention to the box. It was black with a white check mark on the lid. She opened it to find a pair of shoes similar to what Steve wore when he went running. They were black with a bright green check mark on the side, the laces and interior matched. They were springy when she bent them in half. She huffed and shoved the shoes back into the box before storming off to bed.

Sunday found Loki opening the coffee shop again. She'd taken on extra, less pleasant shifts in attempt to get back into the manager's good graces. She cringed when she heard the door open at 5:30. _Right on time._

Loki grabbed a mug and began to pour on instinct. She put the mug down on the counter as Steve reached it. He rand his hand through his hair and looked at her bashfully. "Hi."

"Hello." He fished bills out of his pocket and handed them over. Loki dropped the coins that should have went back into his hand into the tip jar labeled "Berklee Bound Barista Book Bank;" the change inside went into Matthew's pocket. Loki crossed her arms. Steve wasn't moving.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No."

"Have a nice day."

"Onheil?"

"Yes?"

"Did you get the package?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"It was unnecessary."

"I wanted to."

"You shouldn't have."

"Will you wear them?"

Loki looked down and to the side, praying for another customer to walk in. Steve was the only person who was ever in the shop this early. She was pretty sure that it only opened at this unholy hour specifically for him.

"You don't have to."

"I will bring them back to you."

"Keep them."

Steve wrapped his hands around the mug. "Onheil, I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I...I fucked up." Loki was surprised by the obscenity. "I shouldn't have said what I did. I mean...I meant what I said, but I didn't mean to say it that way. It was...unkind. I know what it feels like. I know what it's like to feel trapped. I know what it's like to feel small and cold and alone. I..." Loki couldn't be sure, but she thought Steve was getting ready to cry. He looked down at the mug in his hands accusingly, like it had done something to offend him. "I was _scared._ I didn't know what I was going to do...how I was going to handle it...if...if I had, you know, an episode. I _felt_ it. I felt like the anxiety was just building up. I was so focused on you that I wasn't taking care of myself. I need my routine. I need structure. I need predictability. You...You're _none_ of that. You're spontaneous and creative and so damned _moody_!" He looked at her hard. "I don't know how to take care of the both of us. I thought I did. I wanted to...I _want_ to take care of you. I've wanted to since the fist time I met you. But I don't know if I can. And...and I got so used to you being the stable one. You were always taking care of me. You had moments. You didn't have weeks. That's _me_." Steve released the mug and rubbed his face. "Please come back to me."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because you need a care taker?"

"Because I love you."

Loki felt like there there was a vice around her heart. "Because you _what_?"

"Because I love you."

"I don't think I heard you properly."

Steve leaned forward and seized the back of Loki's neck with one large, strong hand. He pulled her toward himself, over the counter, and smashed his lips against her own. It was awkward and slightly painful. Loki wasn't sure she cared. Steve released her, nearly upsetting the mug on the counter between them when someone behind him cleared their throat. Loki smoothed her apron out and looked over Steve's shoulder. He seemed to be frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry. May I help you?"

Steve finally retreated and sat at a table while Loki took care of the few customers that were mercifully trickling in, scrolling through something on his phone and drinking his coffee in large gulps that couldn't be pleasant. His leg jiggled with nervous energy. Finally, he rose from his seat and brought his empty mug back to the counter.

"Please." His whisper was barely audible.

***

When Steve arrived at the coffee shop Tuesday evening, he felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. Onheil was back in the dress she'd worn that last night, before she'd been _ill_.

"Are we hitting replay?"

"Maybe."

The following evening brought maroon colored pants with a high waist and wide legs and feathers in her hair.

The following evening brought a short suede skirt with fringe and a waistcoat.

The following evening, Steve had to laugh. "You look like Siouxsie Sioux."

"Then you must be a Banshee."

On Saturday morning, Steve dressed for his run and took the stairs down to the lobby two at a time. When he opened the door, he was pleasantly surprised. Onheil rose from her seat on the bottom step. He took in the sight of her--the zipped up green hoodie, the stretchy pants that looked like a second skin, and the running shoes he'd bought for her. He grinned, "Cinderella is coming for a run?"

She said nothing, she just took off in the direction he normally headed in.

***

Loki looked over her shoulder, "Enjoying the view?" Steve looked up, the most mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He certainly was. They ran Steve's usual route. Loki didn't stop when they reached his front stoop once more. Steve followed easily. Loki slowed to a jog when they neared the end of the route again.

"Were you lying?"

"When?"

"You know when."

"No. I would never lie about that."

"Good."

She slowed them to a walk and sat down on the bottom step outside his building, running her sleeve over her temple. She wasn't about to let him see her sweat. Not when he wasn't. Her heart was thudding in her chest. When had she gotten so out of shape? Maybe she should go on runs with Steve more often. She hadn't noticed what an effect the absence of daily combat play had had on her stamina. She would need to keep it up. Just in case.

"Are we to wear matching costumes?"

"Huh?"

"The benefit. You gave me an invitation."

"Oh. If you want, I guess. You don't have to come." He ran his hand through his hair. It was damp closest to his scalp. That made her feel slightly better. "I forgot about that. I wasn't going to go...you know, if I had to go alone."

"Don't lie. You wouldn't let Miss Potts down like that. Or Tony." One side of Steve's mouth quirked up into a smile. She was right. "I will choose costumes."

"Okay."

"I'm going home to change. I'll be back. I want to see what art I've missed."

"Onheil?" Steve asked as they stood. "Is this replay or starting over?"

"This is rewind and over-write."

"Onheil?"

"Mmm?"

Steve pulled Loki close, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face against the curve between her neck and shoulder. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. This was so fluffy. I'm dying. Ack. I really hope you enjoyed it. Loki's got some creative ideas for what he and Steve should wear to Pepper's Halloweeen charity benefit. There always seems to be some kind of benefit or something in these fics, doesn't there?
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback!


	34. Frustration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki get wrapped up in each other.

Loki hurried home to shower and change her clothing. Steve had pressed a key into her hand after he unlocked the lobby door. She used it and went directly to his apartment. He'd left the door unlocked for her 

She listened to the sound of running water. The air in the hall looked hazy, steam lazily making its way out the bathroom door. She resisted the tempting urge to sneak a peek and parked herself on the floor in the living room. She stretched out of her stomach and began to flip through the one sketchbooks that had been waiting for her on the on the coffee table.

Steve seemed to have branched out into different styles while they were apart. Some pieces were more like cartoons. Some were portraits. Some were clearly inspired by fantasy or myth. There were landscapes. There were rough sketches of people int he neighborhood. There was a doodle that looked very much like the child who lived on her floor. Owen stood in his typical fashion, a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face. He wore his bicycle helmet as he peered up from under the edge of it. Even in doodle-form, he was every bit the trouble maker that he seemed to be in real life.

Loki marveled at the new techniques Steve was exploring. There was a bird made entirely of tiny pencil-point dots. There was an apple drawn completely without defined edges, just all shading and gradient to suggest its roundness and shine. There was the front door of this building created from short strokes that looked like brushstrokes rather than charcoal.

There were different mediums. The ever-present pencil and charcoal. Chalk. Pastel. A single attempt at water-color. There was far more color, in general. Many of the pencil drawings were at least partially highlighted with colored pencils. The final drawing in the book, not the last page, but the most recent, was a self portrait. Steve looked out toward the edge of the page, his cheek resting against his propped up fist. There were papers on the desk in front of him. He seemed distracted. The drawing was in full, vibrant color from the shine on the metal desk to the blue plaid of his shirt and the pinkened-from-pressure skin of the cheek pressed to his fist.

The flesh-and-blood version of the man on the page emerged from the bathroom in his robe. "Hey." Loki looked up at him and smiled. "Looks like you got started without me." She apologized, she couldn't wait. "Wouldn't be you if you could."

"You know me _far_ to well, Captain darling."

Steve grinned and retreated to his bedroom to dress, closing the door behind himself. Loki sat up to retrieve the other sketchbook from the table. She'd seen the large majority of the pieces in this one. She flipped through to the last ten or so pages and froze.

There she was, in all of her glory. Her face was obscured, but she knew it was a picture of her. Her mouth felt dry as she ran her fingers over the curve of the twigs that sprouted up from the forward sides of the woven crown around her head. _He knows._

She was still staring down at the page when Steve came into the room and plopped himself down cross-legged on the floor beside her. "Do you like it?" Loki couldn't find her voice to answer. "You don't." She opened and closed her mouth, trying to find words.

"It's...it's beautiful." She wasn't lying. She just didn't add that it was terrifying.

"You mean it?"

"Yes."

"So, you like it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"What...what am I supposed to be?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. A witch? Some kind of nature spirit? That night I came over, when you were in the kitchen stirring the pot. Gosh that seems like forever-ago. That was what made me think of it. I thought you looked like Elphaba might. You know, if she wasn't green."

"Elf-a-what?"

"Elphaba. The Wicked Witch of the West."

"Oh." Loki couldn't help but be a little bit insulted.

"No! No. She wasn't really wicked. Depending on what books you read. I like the McGuire ones. She's not wicked. She's misunderstood. Things get out of hand. She's just trying to protect the people that she loves. She gets...mean. But not truly wicked. She just tries to protect herself after getting kicked around a lot."

"Someone needs to work on their subtlety." Steve chuckled.

"When I was working on it at the Tower one night, while Thor was here, he thought it was his brother."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I supposed he was sort of right, after he described Loki, I saw what he meant." Loki gulped hard. "I'd never seen Thor quite that way before. When he came to let us know what had happened, after that whole realm alignment thing and Loki's death--he was really distraught. Even when he was quiet, you could tell something was bubbling under the surface. But when he was talking about Loki this time, he seemed sort of...happy, I guess. Like he was remembering the good times, or something? It sounded like they were really close at one time." Loki nodded. "But this is most definitely you." He pointed to the face on the paper.

Loki could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She gently moved the sketchbook away and closed it, neglecting to look at the pages beyond that one. She placed it back on the coffee table and moved herself to sit inside the frame of Steve's crossed legs. She pressed her forehead to his, one hand went to lay at the back of his neck, the other to the back of his head with her fingers threaded into his hair. No one had spoken about her with such kindness in such a long time. Every time she'd pressed him for information about his experience during the battle or for his opinon on her and her actions, he surprised her with his kindness and his desire to understand the _why_ behind the events of those long, bloody days.

"What's wrong?" Steve's arms wrapped her in a warm, safe-feeling embrace.

"Nothing."

"But you're getting my face wet."

Loki let out a short laugh. "I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm...I just..." His hands kneaded her sides comfortingly. "I love you. _So much._ "

Steve tilted his face up to catch Loki's lips in his own. "Then why are you upset?"

"I'm not." She drew in a ragged breath. "I'm overwhelmed." Steve kissed her softly again. "Sometimes...I am terrified of my heart; of its constant hunger for whatever it wants...The way it stops and starts."

"I've read that somewhere." She could feel Steve's smile against her lips.

"I imagine you have." She curled her fingers more securely in his hair. "Steven," she breathed after kissing him forcefully, "I am so tired of going slow."

"But, I--" She cut him off with another kiss.

"I know." Loki was frustrated by the pace Steve had set for them. Even when he was bold, everything felt so chaste to her. As much as she admired his lovely chest and stomach and arms and back, she wanted to touch and feel and see so much more. She wanted to admire and be admired in totality. She was constantly having to remind herself that his life, his standards, his culture were not like hers. She wanted more. She wanted him. Even with his slow, but steady advancement, she was beginning to believe that he did not want her the same way. "Just keep kissing me." And so he did.

***

Steve and Onheil spent the day lazily together. She watched movies while he sketched. She offered constructive criticisms when she peeked over at the pages. She insisted he try his hand at water colors again. He insisted that she had far too much faith in him.

Steve hovered close to her in the kitchen while they made sandwiches for lunch. "Onheil, why is it so hard of you to move slow?" It didn't really feel like they were moving slow to him. He felt like they were moving too fast. He was always trying to slow her down. He didn't want what had happened after that first night to happen again. He didn't want to get overwhelmed and push her away again, not when he was always fighting so hard to keep her close. He had to keep reminding himself that they'd grown up in different worlds, at different times, in completely different social cultures. He had to keep reminding himself that she'd been in a serious relationship before, right? She'd had a child. Of course she'd been. Of course she would be bored by the pace they were keeping.

"It isn't the going slow. It's the want. The frustration." She sighed and focused her attention on meticulously covering the slice of bread in front of her with an even  film of mustard, moving the knife slowly. "I want you. I want _all_ of you. I want your mind and your heart and your body. I want you to want me. I want you to need me the way I need you. I want to give myself to you, _completely,_ and I want you to let me have _you_ completely."

"You've been listening to too much Cheap Trick." Steve grimaced at his own ill-timed joke. He always got a little too excited when he understood a reference.

"Too much what?"

"Never mind."

"I just...It's not so much about the _physical_. It's about...the _complete_."

Onheil was the most confounding creature he'd ever met. Even more so, he sometimes thought, than Peggy had been.

"So...You don't really care about fondue?"

She looked at him incredulously, "When did we start talking about food?" Steve shook his head, he would have to tell her that story at some point. Onheil swiped the extra mustard off of the knife on the edge of the jar. Her hand hovered over the sink, about to drop it in. She turned to him instead, lifted the knife level with her mouth, and ran her tongue gingerly over the blade to clean it.

"You are a cruel woman, you know that?" Steve gulped and his heart raced at the suggestive nature of the gesture.

"No, I am wicked, remember?"

Steve chuckled and pressed his lips to her cheek when she turned back away from him. "The wickedest."

They ate their lunch in relatively comfortable silence. Steve spoke again when they were finished. "Any ideas about what you want to go to Pepper's benefit as?"

"Hmm?"

"Costumes."

"Oh. No, not quite."

"We don't have to match, you know."

"We don't?"

"Nope."

"Don't couples usually match?" Steve could feel the smile spreading across his lips. Everyone else labeled them that way. Called them a couple. Called Onheil his "girl" or his "girlfriend." He couldn't ever recall either one of the two of them labeling themselves or each other that way. Onheil gave him a concerned look.

"What? Did I say something funny?"

"No. I just love you." Her face flushed a dark pink and she poked him in the side. Steve flinched. "Oh gosh. Please, no." 

When Onheil smiled and her eyes twinkled mischievously, he knew there was no escape. The assault started in the kitchen and moved to the living room. She was relentless. Steve almost didn't have the heart to stop her. She was so free and gleeful when she was like this. He didn't fee like he saw her often enough this way. She let out an excited shriek when he seized her by the waist and lifted her into the air. She braced her hands against his shoulders as he looked up at her. Her dangling feet strained for the floor, but couldn't close the two foot gap sufficiently to escape him. "Who has the upper hand now, Witch of the West?" Onheil chewed her lip and looked down at him, her hair a curtain around the two of them.

"Somehow...I think it's still me."

She hunched down and nipped at the end of his nose playfully since she couldn't reach anything else from her height. She grinned at him. "Somehow, I think you're right."

Steve carried Onheil toward the bedroom. "We're still going to move slow." He wanted to assure her of that. He wanted to assure himself of that. There were so few things in his life he felt like he really had control over. He want to feel like he had control over this. "When it happens, it happens."

He ducked down slightly to clear the doorway and carried her to the end of the bed. He placed her down and she scooted herself toward the middle. Steve's breath caught at the sight of her, hair splayed over the comforter, arms up over her head casually, bottom lip between her teeth, looking at him expectantly. He crawled toward her, legs on either side of her body. He slid his hands up the length of her arms and laced their fingers together. He dipped his head down and placed his lips against that spot on her neck that made her tremble every time he went near it. He kissed, he licked, his nipped, he sucked lightly. He knew she didn't like to have visible marks on her skin. That was one of the most frustrating things about that damned spot, he could never actually pay the attention he wanted to it. Tremble, she did. "You're a cruel man, Steve Rogers."

They kissed. They touched. They writhed. Steve's heart was pounding in his ears. His skin felt like it was on fire. Onheil was grabbing at the bottom of his shirt. He sat up at ripped it off of his body. She looked at him like she was going to devour him.

"Steven."

"Onheil."

"Steve, if you want to move slowly..." She drew in a sharp breath when he pressed his body to hers and attacked that spot on her neck again. She drew her legs up and wrapped them around him. The heels of her boots pressed into the backs of his thighs. He groaned. How often had he imagined that? "Steve, you have to stop. If you don't stop, you'll regret it. I know you will." He could hardly hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. "Steven, if you love me, you will stop."

He did. He laid his head against her chest. Her legs relaxed, her grip on his hair loosened. He realized he was panting, struggling for breath. "Onheil, I...I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot." He slid his hands under her shoulders and held her close to himself.

She laughed, "No, not an idiot. But it's incredibly evident that you don't quite know what you want."

"Can...Can we just...stay here?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

Eventually, they peeled themselves apart. "I'm so sorry, Onheil. I really don't know what I want." He sat up on the edge of the bed And held his head in his hands. "I mean, I do know what I want. I want _you_. I want all of you. Like you said. I just...I'm scared, I guess. The last time...the only time, that I was ever with a woman--with Peggy--it ended. It didn't end well. I went to sleep for seventy years. She moved on with her life. I just don't want it to _end_." He could feel Onheil moving on the bed behind him. She scratched her fingernails lightly over the skin of his back, like she was scratching a pet. The feeling was comforting, grounding.

"It's okay. I get it. It's frustrating, but I understand." She pressed her lips to the back of his shoulder and encircled his waist with her arms. She got it. She understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure the next chapter will feature the Halloween party Pepper's been planning. I wanted to include it in this one, but I'm jut far too distracted and I really want to write it well. Hope you enjoyed this one.
> 
> And the quote that Steve thinks he's read before is by Edgar Allen Poe.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	35. Spangles and the Wood Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki attend the charity benefit.

Over the course of the few weeks to Ms. Potts' party, Loki's life was turned slightly upside down. The library had begun to cut her hours. She took as many as she could at the coffee shop, but she could not take Matthew's shifts away from him. He had to earn a living as well. Loki wasn't exactly sure what to do. She'd never had to manage her own coin before. If there was one incredibly convenient things about being a Prince of Asgard, even one that was actually essentially a prisoner of war, it was that whatever she wanted usually appeared. There was no need to consider the cost or availability. She could not remember the last time she had even held actual coin in her hand. Even when outside the palace, there was always either an account to tack costs onto or a tavern owner who took the pleasure of serving his princes as payment enough. Even with the abuse and neglect she'd endured considered, she had to admit that she'd led a fairly privileged life.

To take her mind off of her financial woes, Loki threw herself into trying to find the best costumes for herself and Steve. She didn't want to wear the bond tour outfit. Firstly, she believed it would be contrived to show up on Captain America's arm dressed that way. And how would he dress then, if they were to match? In his uniform? No. This was a casual function, not a work event, even if it was Pepper's intent to use the Avengers to bring in donors. Secondly, she found she had other plans for that particular outfit.

"What are you going to dress up as, Owen?" She asked one afternoon. Over the course of the summer and beginning of autumn, Loki had found herself more and more willing to spend time with the child that lived on her floor. She readily agreed when his mother asked her to watch the child one afternoon while she went to a physician's office with the younger of her two children. Owen had consistently requested her services as a baby sitter ever since. He reminded her of Vali. He was innocent but headstrong and thought that he was far more grown up than he actually was. Owen shrugged and swiped at the peanut butter in the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Loki reached across the table and pushed a stray lock of curly, ginger colored hair off of his forehead. "I don't know," he said, "Something scary. A monster." Loki chewed the inside of her cheek and thought. "The Hulk." Owen raised an eyebrow and looked at her, "Hulk?" Crumbs sprayed out across the table. "Yes. He's quite frightening. Although, my understanding of Dr. Banner is that he is quite a pleasant man. He is quite odd, though. Very quiet. Cleans his glasses a lot." She took the empty plate from in front of the child and offered a damp paper towel to him to wipe his hands and face with. "And don't talk with your mouth full. It's rude."

Owen offered several opinions on what Loki should dress as for the party. "Well, the girls in my class are going as stupid, girly things." Loki inquired as to what that meant. "Princesses. Fairies. Cheerleaders. There _is_ one going as a zombie, though. She's cool." Owen appraised Loki as she leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. "You're pretty cool too, I guess. You should go as a zombie." She asked what Steve should dress as then. "He can be the zombie hunter that's trying to cut off your head. That's the _only_ way to kill a zombie for real, you know," Own nodded his head, agreeing with himself. If only he knew just how close to home his suggestion hit. Mercifully, his mother arrived home with the toddler on one hip and a bag of groceries in the other hand. 

Steve made an appearance at the coffee shop the same day, something wrapped in brown paper tucked under his arm. Loki was closing that evening. She was just waiting for the last of the customers to _get the hell out_ before she began putting the seats up on the tables after wiping them down so she could sweep the floor. Loki hated having to do the floors. She'd much rather be charged with cleaning and refilling the coffee grinder. At least then she went home with hair smelling like coffee rather than chemical cleaners. "Hey," he came right up to the counter and placed the package down before leaning across to kiss her. He'd gotten much bolder in public. What previously was limited to hand holding or an arm around her waist or shoulder and the occasional peck on the cheek had turned into lingering kisses and caresses. More than once he'd pulled her from her own space on a park bench or the rock they were sitting on in the park and into his lap--the better to read over her shoulder, he claimed--Loki was fairly sure it was simply the better to access that spot on her neck that made her knees shake. "What's this?" He told her it was a surprise. She would have to wait until she was finished working. She stuck her tongue out at him and put the package on the back counter, "You _know_ I hate waiting." Oh yes, he knew.

It felt like an eternity before the last customer finally left. Steve had drank two cups of coffee. His jaw was smeared on one side with charcoal from his hands, as was the white mug on the table beside his sketchbook. "You're a mess." He grinned at her as he placed the charcoals back into their box. "But I'm _your_ mess." Loki rolled her eyes and went to lock the door and flip the sign from open to closed. Steve rose from his seat and brought his mug back to the front counter after he packed away his materials back into his messenger bag. "Do I get to see my surprise now?" No, she wasn't finished working. Loki narrowed her eyes at him and strode passed to get a wash cloth from the cleaning closet in the back. Before she returned to the store front, she turned on the CD player. It was too quiet with just the two of them and she knew Steve wouldn't object. The player picked up where it had left off earlier in the day before it had gotten far too noisy with the evening rush and she'd turned it off.

Steve was leaning against the counter, scrolling through emails on his work phone. It still confused her that a communication device was called the same thing as a fruit. "Turn off the raspberry, you're not on the clock." Steve chuckled and put it back into his pocket. "Blackberry. And Captain America is never off the clock." Loki shrugged. "Strawberry, blueberry, deadly nightshade. You belong to _me_ right now, not SHIELD. _Turn it off_." He put his hands up in mock surrender and promised he wouldn't take it out again while he was with her. She stepped close to him and wiped the smudges off of his face before turning to the tables. She grinned and stood up straight when the track playing over the speakers changed. She knew this song. She'd watched the movie it went along with at Steve's house one night. He'd sung along to most of the songs in a comically off-tune voice she knew was faked. She'd heard him singing in the shower often enough to know that he could actually follow a melody quite well.

Loki looked over her shoulder and gave Steve a deadpan look, "Don't you forget about me. I'll be alone dancin', you know it, baby." She turned fully around and slung the damp washcloth over her shoulder. "Tell me your troubles and doubts, givin' me everything inside and out." She returned to wiping down the tables as casually as possible until the music sped up. "I said laaa, lalala laaaaah!"

***

Steve couldn't help but laugh as he watched Onheil jump around, her ponytail swinging wildly and her face flushing with exertion. He followed behind her and put the chairs up on the tables that had dried, trying to move her more quickly through closing up the shop. She whipped her body around and pointed at him, "Tonight! I will love love you tonight!" She returned to the task at hand. Steve caught up with her as the music changed. She tossed the wash cloth on the last table and clasped her hands behind his neck. She looked him right in the eye, "Grab somebody sexy, tell them--"

Steve seized her waist, "Hey!" It was her turn to laugh. They finished the floors together, all Onheil had any intention of doing was sweeping up. Steve followed her with the dustpan. She turned to him very seriously when she took it from him to return it to the closet. "I will love love you tonight. Give me everything tonight. We might not get tomorrow." Something in her expression changed and she disappeared into the closet while the track changed again.

***

Loki found she didn't like that song very much, after all. She took a moment alone in the closet to compose herself before returning to Steve in the store front. She could hear Steve taking the last of the chairs back down off of the tables outside. " _Now_ do I get to see my surprise?" Steve nodded, the seriousness of the moment before forgotten. She waited for him to finish with the chairs before sitting down at one of the tables with the brown paper package. She waited for him to sit and give her permission before pulling the knot out of the twine and unfolding the paper. Her eyes widened as she stared back at herself. She'd seen the drawing before, but not quite finished. It had been filled in with color and an intricately detailed background. She felt like if she touched the fur cloak, it would feel soft. The drawing was surrounded by a frame made of smooth, pale driftwood. So _that's_ why he'd refused to allow her to accompany him to the beach at Coney Island earlier in the week. "Do you like it? I asked one of the guys from my sculpture class to help with the frame." Loki looked up from the drawing to her love's face. His blue eyes were earnest and full of hope. "I love it. I love you." She hugged the frame to her chest and fought to keep control when Steve leaned in to kiss her. 

Loki decided in that moment that she knew exactly what she wanted to attend the masquerade dressed as.

***

"I'm kind of nervous about this benefit." Loki looked at Steve, confusion plastered across her face. Hadn't he attended these functions before? "Yes, I have, but they were mostly just dinners or award ceremonies. Very stiff and formal. The scholarship recipients are going to be there. Pepper wanted to make sure they had fun. She has a couple of live bands booked." Loki didn't understand what about that would make him nervous. "I still don't know how to dance." The thought had never occurred to Loki. He seemed to have a natural rhythm. He'd moved so fluidly in battle, like it didn't require a second thought. Combat was so like dance in so many ways. Thinking back, he did seem to allow her to lead him around more often than not when they had two-person dance parties in one living room or another. And even that was more jumping around like lunatics in time with the music than actual dancing.

"Then we shall have to teach you." Steve turned pink in response.

When they reached Loki's apartment, Owen's mother pocked her head out of her apartment door. "Ellie?" Loki turned around. "The UPS guy was looking for you." She disappeared for a moment and came back with a box. "Seemed like something _special,_ so I signed for it." Loki thanked her and took the box before leading Steve inside. He looked over her shoulder at the box. "What exactly did Katie do?" Loki grinned. That was a secret. She went straight into her bedroom to ferret the box away before Steve saw the rest of the logo.

When she returned, Steve was on the phone ordering dinner. His back was to her as he thumbed through the records that line the wall. He pulled one out and handed it to her as he hung up the phone. "Think you can teach me before the delivery guy gets here?" Oh, how Loki loved a challenge.

She'd found through watching movies with Steve that Midgardian dances weren't altogether that drastically different than Asgardian ones. There were more flourishes, they were less stiff, but the basic movements were the same. Loki set the record to play on the Victrola after pushing the coffee table it was resting on up against the couch to give them more room to move in.

_It cost me a lot, but there's one thing that I've got: It's my man, it's my man. Cold or wet--tired, you bet. All of this I'll soon forget with my man._

Loki circled Steve, setting his arms up and prodding his legs with the toe of her boot. She stood behind him, trying to guide him through the simplest waltz steps she could think of. He moved stiffly, unsure of himself.

_He's no hero out of books, but I love him._

Steve frowned and turned to Loki, catching her waist in his hands. "Maybe this wasn't the best music choice." Ms. Holiday was crooning about how her man abused her, but she still loved him. Loki nodded, "Perhaps you're right."

Steve released Loki and took the needle off of the record. "How about you just show me how to move my feet." Loki nodded. She stood behind Steve again and he turned himself around. "No. I want to see you." Loki blushed lightly and nodded. She placed one of his hands at the small of her back and held the other one in her own. Her free hand went to his shoulder. Steve looked intently at their feet as she moved him slowly through the dance. By the time the delivery man came, his feet were more sure, though he couldn't take his eyes off of them and look at her. "I'll trip," he bit his lip and removed his hand from her back when the buzzer from downstairs sounded in the apartment.

After that, Steve demanded dance lessons every evening that the two of them were free. Eventually, in the days before the benefit, he managed to keep his eyes on Loki's face the whole time. He'd only stepped on her toes once. He beamed with pride in himself. "You should come over tomorrow night. I'll have our costumes ready by then." Steve nodded and asked what they were. "You shall just have to wait and see." She lied and said she'd rented them. In reality, she'd bought clothes in appropriate styles and sizes and simply transformed them by magic.

***

Steve waited to open the garment bag that Onheil had given him until the last minute. He felt like he should be surprised. When he finally unzipped the bag before he went to take a shower in the hours before the limo that Tony was sending over was supposed to arrive, he couldn't help but be a little confused. He was also a little concerned that he might die of heat stroke. It looked like it would be fairly warm to wear. There was a grey sweater and loose fitting grey pants that laced up in the front. There was also a soft, charcoal colored, leather tunic. The bottom edge and the short sleeves were line with soft white fur. The collar had bright and dark green embroidery around it that matched the cloth belt. The box she had given him along with the garment bag had boots that matched the tunic. Steve sighed. He had no idea what the costume was supposed to be. Perhaps it would make more sense when he saw the way Onheil was dressed.

Steve found himself vibrating with anticipation when he stepped up to the limo that Tony sent over. "Hello, Captain Rogers. Might I say you look quite dashingly Danish." Steve smiled and thanked JARVIS. At least he sort of knew what he was supposed to be. "If you'll direct the driver to Miss Ferguson's address, we shall retrieve her and head over to Ms. Potts' scholarship benefit." Steve obliged. When they reached Onheil's building, he sent her a text. Within a few moment the front door opened slowly. The first thing he noticed was that she seemed to have modified her boots. There was white fur that matched what was on his clothes peeking out of the tops of them. Her legs were covered by grey material that matched his sweater and pants. There was a white fur half-cape draped around her shoulders. She grinned as she turned toward him and walked down the steps. Her body was covered in a cream colored shift dress that appeared to be a hide of some kind. The belt around her waist matched his, though was more narrow, and their collars matched as well. She had a mask of charcoal colored powder across the eyes and part of her nose. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders and was held back away from her face by a crown of fine, twisted twigs. Horns of the same sprouted from the forward sides and curved up and back away from her head. She pressed her pale lips to his, "Hey there, handsome."

Steve held her out at arm's length. "You..you're...you're my drawing." She grinned and asked him if he liked it and if he liked his costume. "It's amazing." She explained she's taken some liberties with the length of the cape and the rest of the outfit since only part of her face and one arm were actually visible in the drawing. Steve grinned, "Maybe I'll just have to turn that one into a series." She laughed and pushed him toward the open door of the limo, they were going to be late.

***

Loki had been terrified when she opened the door. She thought for sure that seeing her dressed this way, Steve would immediately see her as herself. She'd used dark grey makeup to create a mask over her face. She'd been pleased with the result. It censored her features enough that she didn't mind that there would be photographers at the event. She had to admit that the contrast made her eyes look even greener. She was relieved when Steve seemed to not make the connection between Onheil and Loki. She was thrilled that he liked her choice of costumes. "Are you sure this isn't too extravagant?"

"I'm not entirely sure that I care. You look amazing."

JARVIS interjected politely, "Miss Ferguson, you need not worry. Mr. Stark has purchased a period-accurate Sherlock Holmes costume for the event. It includes a quite extravagant looking velvet waistcoat and gold pocket watch. Last I saw him, Ms. Potts was insisting he stop speaking with the pipe between his teeth." Steve laughed. "Thank you, JARVIS." Loki didn't think she'd ever stop being amazed at the intelligence of the computerized man that inhabited Stark Tower and all of its satellite structures.

The benefit was mostly boring. Loki marveled at the array of costumes, though. It seemed like far too much money was poured into clothing that would only be worn once. There were monsters. There were royals. There were fairies. There were devils. There were food items. There were characters from movies or television shows. The whole thing was a swirling vortex of color and texture.

There was a sit-down dinner followed by the presentation of awards to the ten recipients that Stark had chosen from the hundreds that had applied. "I thought he wanted to give it to them all?" Loki asked in general. Dr. Banner shook his head. "He wanted to, but the investors wouldn't have it. They said it would make the scholarship seem less valuable or competitive or something." The man studied her. She pulled the fur around her shoulders more closely closed. The red-head Loki knew was called Natasha eyed her quietly as Steve picked Loki's hand up from the table and kissed her knuckles. "When I talked to him yesterday, he said he planned on setting up a private trust for the ones who didn't make the cut. The investors weren't happy, but they can't tell him what to do with his own money." Loki nodded. She saw more and more that Stark was a genuine character even with all of his bravado.

After the awards were presented, the first band of the night was brought in and the floor was opened up. Loki looked at Steve expectantly, he shook his head and took a long sip from the glass of wine in front of him. "Nervous?" He nodded. "Don't be. You'll be fine." Loki smiled reassuringly and watched as the man she'd once controlled stood and offered his hand to Natasha. Indiana Jones swept the vampire onto the dance floor. Agent Hill approached and asked Dr. Banner if he'd like to dance. The man dressed as Watson hesitated before he took the hand of the woman dressed as a gladiator.

Loki leaned into Steve when he draped his arm around her. She watched the dance floor and picked out Jane Foster in the crowd. She was dancing with the scientist she'd used to create the portal for her army. She took a deep breath to steady herself and pointed them out, "Is Thor here?" Steve shook his head. They hadn't heard from Thor in several months. He looked at her with slight confusion when she let out the breath she'd been holding and asked what was wrong. "Nothing." She smiled. "Wine's just going to my head a bit," she lied. She put down her glass and kissed his cheek. She pointed out a couple that was dancing awkwardly toward the edge of the floor. She thought she recognized the bandolier and the hair buns from a movie Steve had made her sit through more than once. Or maybe it was several movies with the same characters. "Who are they?" Steve cringed, "That's Fitz-Simmons." He'd told her that the female of the pair was trying to perform experiments of some kind on him. He'd woken one night shouting about mortars and ice and syringes sucking out the water from his eyes and how he thought he was blind. He'd insisted she turn the lights on and leave them on. "I don't want to be blind." She'd tried to sooth him back to sleep, but it had remained an restless night. It was after that that Loki had insisted Steve return to his old therapy schedule with Dr. Cooper.

The band finished their set and the people who had made it out onto the floor returned to their seats, faces flushed and chests heaving. Stark and Ms. Potts finally made their way to the table while dessert was being served. "Hello, Watson!" Tony had one hand behind his back and the other held his lapel. Evidently Pepper had succeeded in getting him to leave the pipe at home. Dr. Banner grinned and nodded, "Holmes." Pepper stood beside him in a slinky red dress. She was holding a harlequin mask on a stick. "I'm so glad you all made it. You look wonderful."

Tony's eyes swept across the table, "Whoah." He stopped on Loki. "Now that's a costume." He looked at Steve, "Oh my god, _you match_. You freaking match. You two are the cutest freaking thing I've ever seen." Tony chattered on about what they were supposed to be and where they'd found the costumes. "I don't know, Onheil found them. I'm just along for the ride." Tony looked seriously at Loki and asked her to stand. "Turn to the side." She complied. "Look over your shoulder." Confused, she still did as requested. "You're the drawing! You're the drawing from Steve's sketchbook!" Steve blushed and confirmed Tony's exclamation. He reminded Loki that he'd worked on it at the Tower. "You two have to stop with the adorable. You're going to kill me. Pepper? Why aren't _we_ adorable? You could have been Irene Adler and we would have been the best couple here. But no, you let Spangles and the Wood Witch _beat_ us." He made a tut-tut noise and became serious. "Just so everyone knows, there's press here. I'm not sure how some of them got in, I had a specific list approved. I think they weaseled their way into some of the plus one spots. Just watch your back." Steve tensed as Loki sat back down. Stark and Pepper made their way to the next table that held Coulson, Fitz-Simmons and Agent Hill.

"What's wrong?" Loki reached up and stroked Steve's face gently. He shook his head. "Nothing, I just kind of hate the press. After Fury showed me all those pictures...I thought tonight would be safe. Tony set a no cell phones or cameras policy. I thought the only people that would be taking photos where the ones he'd hired himself. He said he would ask them not to take pictures of us. I know you don't like it. I don't either." 

Loki leaned in and kissed Steve's cheek. "Don't worry. I knew what I was getting myself into. Paparazzi be damned!" She grinned. "Now, can we _please_ dance?" Steve took a deep breath. It looked like the tension was leaving his body inch by inch. "Sure."

***

Steve took one last gulp of the wine he knew would do nothing to help steel his nerves and rose from his seat. He held his hand out to Onheil and led her out onto the dance floor. He picked a spot near the middle, where they were obscured by the mass of other couples around them. The band was playing slow, jazzy sounding music. He put his arms up into the frame that Onheil had taught him. She smiled and told him to relax. He tried to. He looked down at their feet, counting off steps in his head. "Steven," she said softly, "look at me. I'm not worried about your feet. Just keep moving." Steve looked up into the green eyes tentatively. They sparkled with the lights from the chandelier overhead. She was smiling at him in the most tender way. "Just move." Steve nodded. He moved. They fell into an easy rhythm as they moved back and forth and around the space they'd claimed. Steve didn't notice when other couples started moving away from them. He didn't notice the occasional flashbulb that went off in their direction. He didn't notice that they seemed to be the only ones still moving when the song neared its end. Steve smiled and leaned forward to kiss Onheil. He pressed his forehead to hers, "Thank you." She said he had nothing to thank her for, that he was an excellent dance partner. His face burned when the sound of polite applause reached his ears. He could hear Tony's loud whistle over the quiet din. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Paparazzi be damned, remember? Obnoxious billionaires, too."

***

Natasha leaned in to speak privately with Bruce after she'd sent Clint to the bar to get her another vodka. "Didn't I tell you? Doesn't she look _familiar_?" Bruce nodded.

"She does. Hulk feels it too."

Natasha scowled when people started applauding. Steve and the woman were in the middle of the dance floor, their heads pressed close together. "I don't like it, Bruce." She turned back to him, "Not one bit."

***

Steve was relieved when the band changed and the music picked up tempo. He preferred the jumping-around-like-a-loon kind of dancing. It didn't require any talent, just an ability to keep time and not knock anyone over. He and Onheil thrashed around on the dance floor until they were both red in the face.

At the end of the night, Tony stood near the door to bid farewell to his guests. There were quite a few guests, especially the scholarship recipients, who wanted to take pictures with the Avengers. They stayed after the bulk of the guests had left and obliged all requests. Steve was surprised when no journalists aside from those Tony had invited approached. "I had security politely remind them that they were here as guests of people who had been invited, not in a work capacity." Tony grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

Steve said his goodbyes, keeping Onheil close to him. She'd patiently waited at the edge of the dance floor for him while he posed for what felt like hundreds of pictures. He led her outside to the limo that was waiting to take them home. JARVIS greeted them warmly. "I trust you had a good time?" Steve confirmed that they did. "And where shall we be dropping you off?" Steve turned to Onheil, who bit her lip and blushed. "I think you can leave both of us at Onheil's house, JARVIS, thank you."

When they got back up to Onheil's apartment, she immediately pulled the horned crown off of her head and abandoned it on the coffee table. Steve grinned when he noticed his drawing hanging between the bookcases, in the space over the television. The painting that had been hanging there previously was leaning against the bookcase on the floor. "Do you mind if I get changed first?" Steve shook his head. He was thirsty, he went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. The box that Onheil's neighbor had signed for sat empty on top of the recycling bin. He picked it up and looked at the logo on the side. _Vintage inspired lingerie and hosiery._ Steve's face felt hot and he knew he was blushing. He put the box down. "So _that's_ what Katie did."

He made his way out of the kitchen and kicked off his shoes while he untied the belt from his waist and pulled the tunic over his head. He knocked on the bedroom door before entering. "Steve!" Onheil crossed her arms over her bare chest. "Oh gosh! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He covered his face with his hands after dropping the belt and tunic on the floor. "I knocked. I swear I knocked."

"Steve." She sounded close. "Steve, put your hands down." He did as he was asked. He gulped hard and focused on her face. She hadn't removed the makeup-mask yet. It had gotten a little bit smudged. It gave her a feral look. Her eyes looked so incredibly jewel-like in contrast to the smoky powder against her pale skin. Her hands moved to her hips, still encased in the soft, grey leggings that ended just under her navel.

"Steve."

"Yeah?"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I should have waited for you to answer."

"You just surprised me, that's all."

She pressed her body to his and guided his hands to her hips. "Slow enough?" Steve nodded. She held his face in her hands and kissed him firmly. Every muscle in his body tightened when she moved back enough to get her hands between their bodies and unlaced the front of his pants. She pushed them down off of his hips. He swallowed hard and stepped out of them awkwardly. "Arms." She grasped the bottom of his sweater and pulled it over his head. She dropped it on the floor beside them. "And now we're even. Sort of." Steve couldn't help but laugh when she grinned at him. He knew she should be embarrassed, but he found himself feeling less tense, instead. He pulled her to himself, pressing their bodies together. He kissed her, letting his tongue slide against her lips and slip between them briefly. "We're not moving slowly anymore."

Steve nodded and put his arms around Onheil, relishing her coolness against his feverish skin. She hooked her index fingers into the waistband of his boxers. "Sort of nakedness doesn't necessarily mean we have to rush for home base, right?"

"Of course not. We'll stop where you want."

Steve guided her toward the narrow bed and pulled her down with him. She pressed her body close to his, one leg slung lazily over his hip. She kissed a trail from his lips down over his neck. She hunched down and pressed her lips to his chest, inching downward. "Ow." She looked up at him innocently, his skin pink where she had caught it between her teeth. She moved back up toward his face and he cupped hers in his hand. She turned her face to kiss his palm. She moved her head and caught his thumb in her mouth, sucked hard. "Oh my." She moved her lips from the base of his thumb and out toward the tip, her cheeks hollowing with the negative  pressure she was creating.

Steve embraced her and turned their bodies so that he was above her. She trembled lightly when he ran his fingers over her neck and took her earlobe into his mouth. "Steven." She breathed. He moved his lips to her throat and his hands to her bare breast. She sighed contentedly and and tugged lightly on his hair, he took the hint and moved his lips back to hers.

He moved against her, rolling his hips much in the same way she was always moving against him. He found himself aroused and knew there was no going back.

***

Loki could feel the Captain's hardness against her thigh. She couldn't help but be at least a little pleased with herself. She wasn't sure she was going to get exactly what she wanted, but she was content to have what he would give her. He only got harder as they kissed and licked and bit and touched. She could feel the heat building between her own legs. She knew if she tried to stand at this point, she'd simply fall over on jellified legs.

"Steve." She let her hand brush against his more than obvious erection.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

His face turned a darker shade of red than just from their languid exertion. "I...I can go take care of it. Or think of baseball. Or Director Fury." Loki put a finger to his lips to shush him. She didn't want any mention of that awful man in her bed--in any bed they shared. "Put all of that out of your head, you silly man."

She slipped her fingers inside the vent in the front of his boxers. The fabric and his skin were already slightly damp. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath when her fingers closed around him and she began to moved her wrist in a gentle motion. "Onheil," he breathed.

She pressed her lips to his and continued to moved her hand over and around him. Her own excitement slowly cooled while she devoted her focus to his pleasure. He nearly choked when she brushed her thumb against the ridge near the tip of him and then over the top. "Breathe, Captain darling." He swallowed in a deep breath upon being reminded. With their bodies pressed together as they were, she could feel the muscles in his abdomen clenching and fluttering involuntarily.

Steve finally opened his eyes and look directly at her. His lips parted and he brought them to her own. He'd lowered himself down onto one elbow beside the arm attached to the hand around him. His free hand explored her face and neck and shoulder and stomach. It rested for a moment on her breast then moved away, trembling with either nervousness or approaching rapture. He moved his hand to her abdomen and ran it upward.

Her hand paused in its attention to Steve's erection. His fingers were gliding over the scar on her chest. "Steve. Stop." He blinked at her in confusion. She grasped his hand with her free one and moved it away from her chest, let it rest against her neck. "What?" He frowned, the expression exaggerated by his heavily lidded eyes. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just keep kissing me." He hesitated, unsure, but followed instruction. She resumed her attentions to his need. Eventually, Steve's attention to her ceased. His body tensed. Warm fluid hit Loki's stomach and made her hand slick against him. She continued the motion of her hand until Steve couldn't hold his body up on the one arm any longer. He curled himself against her, panting and kissing her sporadically. She allowed the attention until the stickiness on her skin began to feel tight and uncomfortable. She kissed him one last time and excused herself.

When she returned to the bedroom, Steve was sitting up in the bed, his back inclined against the wall. She blushed when she noticed he'd put himself away. He was studying the newly finished painting that was sitting on the easel. When she walked around it it was his turn to blush. She crossed her arms in a semblance of modesty. "Can I borrow my pants?" Loki nodded and retrieved the sweatpants that had once belonged to Steve from the closet and a tee shirt for herself. She stripped the leggings off of her bottom half while he covered his own.

Steve climbed back onto the bed and scooted as far against the wall as he could before holding his arms out to her. She molded her body against his and he pulled her comforter over the two of them.

"Steven?"

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted to remind you that I love you."

"I love you, too."

"No matter what. No matter the baggage or the history or who either of us are outside of this room. Or inside this room."

"Same."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

Loki slept more easily than she had in many nights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! We're gaining speed here, finally!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed Steve and Loki's costumes. Obviously, Loki's was from Steve's drawing. Steve's was from Loki's imagination and what she remembered seeing during her past visits to Midgard many moons ago. (Really it was totally a variation on Kristoff's clothes in Frozen. Can you not absolutely picture Steve as Kristoff?! Ahh! The cute. I'm dying.)
> 
> The song playing while Loki is closing the shop is the final mix the Bellas sing at the end of Pitch Perfect. I'm so sorry. I was listening to the soundtrack today and I couldn't help myself. The song that is playing when Loki is trying to teach Steve to dance is "My Man," by Billie Holiday.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it! Did you catch the RDJ reference during the benefit? Coudn't help myself there either. Would Tony and Bruce not make an absolutely perfect Holmes and Watson? The personalities sync up so well.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.
> 
> PS: You'll all get to find out, along with Steve, what exactly was in that box that got delivered soon enough!


	36. Good Morning to You, Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the benefit.

Loki was vaguely aware that the skin of her neck was wet. She was fairly sure that the sharp feeling accompanying the wetness was teeth. She was also fairly sure she didn't mind. She sighed contentedly and searched blindly with her hands for the head attached to the teeth to hold it there in that spot that was making her toes curl.

She decided she quite enjoyed being woken this way. Maybe not at this hour, but definitely in this way.

"Onheeeeiiil."

"Mmm." The sound of her false name vibrated against her neck wonderfully.

"Onheil."

She scratched at the head like she would scratch a cat. The person attached practically purred in response. She wrapped her legs around him to secure him beside her. "Oh, Ellie."

"Mmm." The sound came out as a half laugh. Owen had started to call her that because he could not wrap his tongue around Onheil.

The verbal sounds stopped and the body beside her shifted. Lips moved over her collarbone and up her throat. They trailed up over her chin and latched onto her own. She finally opened her eyes lazily when the lips pulled away.

"Good morning, starshine. The earth says 'hello!'" Loki snorted out a laugh and tilted her head back and to the side to see the clock. "Run?" She shook her head and attempted to pull Steve down to meet her lips again.

"Sleep. Maybe more kisses. No running."

"Onheil." Steve rested his head against her shoulder. "I have to. You know I have to. I..."

"You need structure and repetition and predictability." Loki imitated Steve's stern voice. The one he used when he was Captain Rogers, not just her Steven.

"Hey. Don't make fun."

"I'm not." She released him from the tangled prison of her limbs. "Go."

"Come with me."

"No. I'm exhausted...and I don't have a shift in Manhattan today. I don't need to peel myself away from this bed until at least noon." Steve sighed. He wished she would come. Loki turned her face into the nest of pillows and groaned in response. She could feel his weight leaving the bed.

"I have to go grab clean clothes and sneakers. I'll come back here?" Loki turned back over and took in the sight of him. His bare torso. The barely noticeable division between the slightly paler skin just peeking up over the top edge of the low-slung sweatpants and the skin of that glorious torso. She had the urge to run her tongue over that line of skin. She was glad she'd insisted he spent at least some time sunbathing sans-shirt on the Great Lawn over the course of the summer. She liked the look of his golden hair with his glowing skin. She like the contrast it created between their arms and faces and hands and bodies when they were close to each other with her own snow-whiteness. "Are you going to get out of bed to let me back in? Or should I take the fire escape?" Loki waved vaguely at the pile of clothing on the floor beside the bed, "Keys are somewhere in there." Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head. He stripped off the sweatpants and folded them before leaving them on the foot of the bed. He pulled the pants and sweater and boots from his costume back on. "You have to return these, right?" Loki nodded. "If you'd tell me where you got them I could do that for you." She chewed the inside of her cheek like she was actually considering it before answering with a "nope!" Steve sighed and dug her keys out of what was left of the pile of clothes. He kissed her forehead firmly before leaving the apartment.

***

Steve found himself pushing harder and running faster in order to get back to Onheil sooner. Fury had basically ordered people who had attended Tony's party to take the day off. He said he didn't want to deal with anyone's hangover. Steve felt like he just didn't want to admit he was trying to be nice. He rushed through the motions of showering and putting clean clothes on and hung the costume pieces he'd worn home back in the garment bag and put the boots in the shoe box.

He opened the door to the sound of a blender pulsing. Steve put the items in his arms down on the couch and leaned up against the counter beside Onheil. "So you decided to peel yourself out of bed after all?"

"Mhmm." She kept her eyes on the strawberry she was slicing. Steve fingered the silk of her sleeve.

"Are we starting over?" She looked up at him with a brow raised. "With the clothes, I mean." The emerald colored dress was one she'd worn in the first weeks of her history lesson when she'd started with the familiar. He noticed the seams crawling up the backs of her legs when he came into the room. "No," she said, her ponytail swinging back and forth with the shake of her head. "I just like the dress."

She dropped the strawberry slices into the blender and pulsed it a few more times before she poured out the fragrant pink smoothie out into an over sized glass and handed it to him. Steve took a large gulp and cringed from the brain freeze it induced. Onheil giggled and turned to clear the counter Steve watched her while she moved. He noticed there was already an empty glass in the sink. She must have gotten out of bed shortly after he'd left. He finished the last of the smoothie after she'd washed out the blender and set it to dry. He rinsed his glass out and leaned against the counter.

"I kind of feel guilty."

"I drank mine already."

"No. About last night, I mean."

Onheil let out an aggravated sound and let her body slouch back against the fridge. She swiped her hand down her face and scowled at him. " _What_ did I do wrong this time?"

Steve shook his head. "Nothing. It..you..were _amazing._ "

"Then _why_ do you feel guilty, Steve? I can't keep doing this." She crossed her arms and set her jaw.

"I feel guilty because..." He could feel his face get hot. He closed the space between them and put his hands on her waist. "I feel guilty because I got to have all the fun."

"You certainly did."

"And I want to fix that."

"Oh, really?"

"Mhmm."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

Steve answered with his hands instead of his lips. He moved one hand down off her hip and over her thigh. The fabric of the dress felt like water moving against his hand. He leaned down and drew her leg up, making her bend her knee and rest it against his own hip. "How am I doing so far?" Her arms were less tightly crossed. Her scowl had turned into a heavy lidded stare. "Good?" She nodded. He pushed his fingers forward, enjoying then the feel of the smooth, firm fabric of the stockings and following the lane of skin on the side of her thigh. The skirt of her dress slid down the angle of her leg and bunched at her hip. "Still good?" She nodded. He leaned forward to kiss her. She uncrossed her arms and draped them around his neck. Steve's hand moved to her buttock and the crease that the tension of the back garter was creating against her flesh. 

He slipped his index finger under the garter and moved toward the clip. He tried to recall the feel of Peggy's garters in the dark, how exactly he had to grip the metal clasp to remove it. He fumbled for a moment before it popped off. "And now?" She nodded. His attention returned to the present and the woman in front of him. He made quicker work of the garter clasp in the front. He let her leg slide down over his and repeated the ritual with the other. Her breathing deepened. Her face was flushed. He could swear her pupils were dilated. There had to be a wider ring of green around them before. "Steven," she breathed. He moved his hands to cup her behind and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and he turned to place her back down on the counter she'd been slicing strawberries on moments ago.

***

Loki didn't care that the clips from the garters on the backs of her legs were cutting into her skin, trapped between the hard counter and her soft flesh. Steve's hands were sliding up her thighs. She lifted herself slightly to allow him to move her dress from beneath her. "So how do you plan on fixing it?" Steve smiled the most devilish smile she'd ever seen cross his lips. He didn't answer. He showed.

***

He'd only done this once before. He hoped that he wouldn't be completely horrible at it. The last time had been hurried and frantic, a mad dash toward completion in the back of an officer's vehicle with rain pounding deafeningly against the roof. He moved one hand over the outside of Onheil's thigh, across the top, and down toward the inside. The tips of his fingers inched forward and met one of those silky, slithery things he'd been so embarrassed to grab a handful of and throw into a bag some weeks ago. He moved it aside and slid his fingers against her warm flesh, marveling at how her hair felt nearly as soft and smooth as fabric bunched around her waist. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. She held her breath. He slipped a digit inside. Her lips closed, bottom one pressed white between her teeth.

"Onheil?"

"Mm."

"Breathe."

She let out the breath she was holding as he pushed his finger in to the knuckle before slowly sliding it back out again. She pressed her forehad to his shoulder and groaned. "I guess I'm fixing it?" She let out a breathless laugh. Predictably, the fingers of one hand found the back of his head and laced tightly into his hair. She let him be in control for several minutes. He moved his finger in and out slowly, the motion becoming smoother each time with the slickness that was building between her legs.  She picked up her head and looked at him with half closed eyes. They widened when he brushed his thumb over that hard bud above the space he was working in, she drew in a sharp breath. "Good?" She nodded.

Onheil took a trembling hand from it's resting place on his shoulder and crooked her finger in a "come hither" motion in front of her face. She didn't need to spell it out any further. He did the same within her. She cried out when the tip of his finger pressed against that spongy spot inside. She regained her composure within several strokes.

Onheil rested her cheek against Steve's shoulder. "Harder," she whispered. Her slow, deep breathing turned ragged.

She pressed her lips to his neck, nipped at the skin. Her fingers in his hair tightened. "Faster," she whispered.

There was a cacophony of knocking on the door. "Just...just..." She took several breaths. "Just a min..it." Whomever was at the door could wait.

"Hello! I know you're in there!" Steve wanted to kill the man he knew was on the other side of that door. He wasn't about to stop and neither was Steve. He worked his index finger back and forth more diligently. He pressed his thumb to that spot again. Onheil was squirming. She was gripping his hair far too tightly. The heels of her boots were digging into his buttocks and thighs. She was making the most perfect sounds he thought he'd ever heard.

"Open the fucking door, Steve!"

Onheil's body tensed and shuddered. Her flesh spasmmed around him, the muscles clenched and unclenched. He stayed where he was until her breathing slowed again.

"Onheil?" Tony was still beating on the door. "I think we should see who's there." She looked at him, dazed and confused before she registered the sound of the knocking. She allowed him to place her back down on the floor and she moved toward the door on wobbly legs while Steve washed his hands.

***

Loki's heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She wasn't sure if she was still in bed dreaming or not. But she couldn't be dreaming, she wasn't in Germany. "I'm coming," she breathed out, not really caring that the person on the other side of the door probably couldn't hear her. She peeked through the peephole and opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. "What..." She took a deep breath. Her face must be still flushed. Her whole body felt too warm. "What are you doing here? How...how do you even know where I live?"

"Is Spangles in there? I know he's in there because he's not at home. I went there first and then JARVIS said the both of you came here last night in the limo. Where the hell is he?"

"Good morning to you, too, Mr. Stark."

Steve came up behind her and shut the door. He unfastened the chain and opened the door again, moving slightly in front of Loki. "What the heck is the matter, Tony?"

" _This._ This is the matter." Tony slapped a newspaper against Steve's chest. Steve held it out and looked at the front page. There were he and Loki, dancing at the benefit last night. At least it wasn't a photo of their kiss on the dance floor. "Do you know how many lines the foundation got on the front-page article about Captain America and his mysterious girlfriend? _Six._ SIX! Do you realize how _important_ last night was to me? Do you realize how important it was that the foundation and those scholarship winners got media attention?" Steve opened and closed his mouth.

"How did you even get up here?"

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically. "I am a genius and that is a cheap magnetic lock. Really? How did I get up here? Please." Tony stared hard at the pair of them. "Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe all of _this_ \--" he waved his hands in front of himself, indicating Loki and Steve and whatever else the pair of them represented, "isn't really the best thing."

Loki felt her mouth drop open. Steve reached behind himself and put his arm around her protectively, pushing her further behind him. "Tony, I'm sorry. I can't control what they publish. _You_ invited them! This is a paper _you_ invited!" He thrust the paper back toward Stark.

"Drop dead, Steve." The man stormed away. He paused at the top of the stairs and turned back, pointing accusingly at Loki's legs. "And you might want to pull your stockings back up before you answer the door looking all sexed-up next time." She knew at least one was pooled around the top of her boot. She pressed her face to the back of Steve shoulder to hide her embarrassed blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah! Tony certainly killed the mood there, didn't he?
> 
> As ever, hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	37. Holey Moley Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve have a treat.

Steve could feel Onheil shaking behind him. Her arms wrapped around his waist. The back of his shoulder where her face was pressed was rapidly getting damp. Damn you, Tony. "I shouldn't have gone. I _told_ you it wouldn't be good. I shouldn't have gone. Your director was so worried about keeping you--keeping us--out of the press. I fucked _everything_ up." She gulped in air. "You should have gone alone. You should have just been the Captain for a night and everything would have been fine."

"Onheil, no."

"What do you mean, 'no?' You _know_ I'm right."

"No, you're not. I'm glad you came last night. I wanted you to come. I would have had a terrible time without you. I would have sat at that table all night and drank wine that did nothing for me in some costume I probably wouldn't have liked--or worse yet, I would have put on my uniform and gone as myself." He peeled her arms off of himself and turned to face her. "The only thing I regret about last night--the only thing that I regret about this morning--is that our fun was cut short."

Onheil looked at him hard and took a step back. She rubbed roughly at her face and sniffed loudly. It was such an un-ladylike move and he loved her for it. She could be so prim and proper and well-bred in one moment and then completely casual and brash in the next. Her duality was as endearing as it was infuriating. She gulped in breath, struggling to regain composure and went to work righting her stockings and clipping the garters back to the tops of them. "I don't ever want that man near my home again." She stepped closer and embraced Steve, molding her body to his. "He can fuck 'imself." She buried her face against the crook of his neck.

"Hello? Is everything okay out here?" The woman that Steve had given the running shoes to, that perplexing child's mother was standing in the hallway. The relative silence was broken by the sound of the screaming toddler on her hip. Onheil removed herself from Steve and moved into the still open doorway, insisting that everything was fine. "It's just...I just got her to go down for a nap. She was up all night with a fever--I was up all night with her fever--and then there was all this banging and shouting. It sounded like someone was being killed out here."

Steve moved into the doorway beside Onheil. "It's my fault. I'm so sorry. It was...work related." He cringed when the child got louder. The boy he'd met was standing in the doorway with his fingers stuck in his ears, a cringe that matched Steve's on his own face. Onheil extricated herself from between him and the door frame and put her arms out to the screaming child, "Let me." The mother looked hesitant, but handed the child over.

"Hush, Samantha." Onheil's voice was barely audible as she wrapped the toddler in her arms and swayed lightly from side to side as she moved past the mother and into the apartment they belonged to. Steve could hear her humming, but he didn't recognize the tune. He raised his eyebrow and followed the mother and the boy into the apartment.

***

Loki hummed a melody she vaguely remembered Frigga singing to her as a child, before she realized that in the dark she could be as big and powerful as she wanted. Before she realized that the darkness was the great equalizer of monsters. She was aware of the child's family and Steve following her inside. Loki stood in front of the child's bed and swayed, working a small bit of magic to calm her down before placing her back onto the mattress. The child didn't immediately fall off to sleep, but at least she'd stopped screaming.

Loki had always felt she was quite good with children when given the opportunity. She'd thought that she and Sigyn had been doing quite the excellent job with Vali and Narfi before...well, before.

***

Steve watched from the doorway as Onheil swayed. He imagined she would have been a wonderful mother to her own son, the mysterious S. She seemed to know just how to handle the child in her arms. "I don't know how she does it," the mother beside him said in disbelief. "It's like she has magic powers or something."

Steve smiled, "I think she just might."

In that moment, Steve thought that he wouldn't mind spending a very long time with Onheil. He thought he wouldn't mind being with just Onheil, with all of her perplexing behaviors and surprising talents and her willingness to let him be.

Steve apologized again while Onheil perched on the edge of the small bed and continued to hum softly. The boy was standing near his own bed, a scowl on his face and his arms crossed. He went to his mother's side and clutched at her sweater, clearly jealous of the attention his little sister was getting. Steve couldn't help but notice that the siblings looked nothing alike. The boy was fair and ginger-haired with a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks like his mother. The girl had mousy brown hair and dark eyes. Steve wondered for a moment what Frigga and Odin looked like, if this scene resembled anything of what Thor had talked about the last time he was here, when he'd spoken so kindly of his adopted brother and their history together. He'd mentioned that his mother was prone to doting on Loki.

"Really, it's okay. As long as everyone else is okay. I was just concerned, whoever that was made quite a racket."

Onheil rose and moved toward the boy. She tugged on his ear playfully and he buried his face in his mother's sweater. "Yes, Mr. Stark can be quite the drama queen. I'm so sorry he woke Samantha." She leaned down toward the boy. "You're far too grown up for this, Owen. Your sister isn't feeling well, you must share the attention. You're still my favorite boy. Wipe that sour look off your face." The boy's mother laughed when Owen let go of her sweater and obeyed. "I swear, I should just let you adopt them. You get far better results than I do, sometimes." Onheil blushed in response.

The couple said their goodbyes and apologized again as they left the apartment. Owen stuck his head out the door, "Ellie?" Onheil turned around. "If Sam is still sick, can you take me trick-or-treating?" Onheil nodded, of course she would. "Ellie? Did he make you sad again? Your face is all red." Onheil smiled and shook her head, "You're far too perceptive for a seven year old, Owen." He narrowed his eyes at her, "Going on eight." Onheil nodded, she stood corrected.

Steve spent the rest of the morning trying to rekindle what they'd started the morning with. Onheil was too angry. She seethed quietly. She was a little frightening when she got this way. Steve found himself too on edge. Every attempt at a kiss or a touch just felt forced. "Steve, you need to get out of here."

"What?"

"You need to get out. You're antsy. You're making me antsy. I know you're avoiding taking an extra dose. You need to go work off the antsy-ness."

Steve sighed, "You're right. I need to blow off steam. This just isn't working. But the Tower isn't an option."

"Go for another run." Steve knew that wouldn't help. Running was for feeling whole and healthy. He felt destructive.

"I'll go over to SHIELD."

"But you have the day off, don't you?"

"Not to work, just to use the training room." Onheil nodded, clearly knowing he meant he was going to go over there and destroy a few hanging bags.

Steve was reluctant to leave. Onheil insisted that if he didn't leave soon she would be late for work. "I can't afford to have any of my pay docked right now." Steve had a feeling that she was in trouble, but she wouldn't let him help her.

When he reached SHIELD, he was bombarded with questions from other agents. He shrugged them off for the most part. His private life was his private life. She was a nature witch and he was a Dane. Yes, her eyes are really that green. No, he wouldn't be bringing her by the office. No, he was not pleased that they'd made the front page. It was no one's business if they were serious or not. It was no one's business how long they had been together.

Steve let out an aggravated sound and let his full strength flow down his arm and into the bag. It promptly exploded. The gym went silent. The agent who had been pestering him at the bag beside his took a step back, "Sorry, man." Someone on the other side of the room cleared their throat, "Maybe you need some extra crazy-pills, Cap!" There was uncomfortable laughter. Steve set his jaw and flared his nostrils. He bent down to pick up the destroyed bag and then thought better of it. Let someone else clean up the mess. He was tired of being polite. He'd reached his daily limit. He turned on his heel a little too fast and nearly tripped in the pool of sand on the floor around him. More nervous laughs. He composed himself and strode purposefully from the gym, ripping the wrapping off of his hands as he went and shoving it down into his pockets. Agents and secretaries scuttled out of his way in the halls. He skipped the locker room and went straight to his office, slamming the door behind himself.

Steve sat down at his desk and gripped the edge. His knuckles turned white. He squeezed his eyes shut. _"Not going to have an episode. Not going to happen. Not going to happen. Not going to take an extra dose. Don't need the crazy pills. Don't need them. Don't need them. Don't need them."_ He opened his eyes and glared at the SHILED logo bouncing around on his computer screen. They should have just left him in the ice. Life was too exhausting. He was pulled out of his thoughts when the computer started making frantic sounds at him, a ringing telephone icon appeared on the screen with "Incoming call from: Director Fury," he sighed and clicked the green "answer" icon. Fury's forever scowling face appeared on his screen.

"Do I need to come see you, Captain?"

"No, Director."

"Did you not just make a scene in the training facility?"

"Yes, Director."

"Did you not just slam you door so damned hard half the building heard it?"

"Yes, Director."

"Do I need to get Cooper down here?"

Steve gritted his teeth, "No, Director."

"Is this about the newspaper?"

"I suppose it may be, Director."

"I told you it wouldn't be pleasant when the press finally sank their teeth into you. I couldn't stop this one, Captain. I tried." Fury looked genuinely remorseful. "I at least got them to agree not to publish the photos of you kissing her."

"Thank you, Director." Steve felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"Captain? I think you might have a little trouble opening your desk when you let go of it. I'll send facilities down tonight." Steve looked down at the edge of the metal desk. It was crimped in the pattern of his fingers gripping the edge. He blushed and apologized. "No, problem, Captain." Fury moved his hand like he was going to end the call and paused. "Cap, does she make you happy?" Steve looked directly at the director on his screen. Yes. She absolutely did. "Then I guess that's all that matters, isn't it?" He shrugged, "This is going to be a shit storm, Cap, I hope you realize that." Yes, he did. "Think she can handle it?" Steve didn't know, but he'd do his best to protect her. Fury nodded and ended the call.

Steve sighed and put his face in his hands. Somehow, this wasn't how blowing off steam should have wound up. He just felt more anxious. It was down to a manageable level, at least. Until there was a cacophony of knocking at his door. Really?

"Capsicle? Can I come in? Please?" Tony didn't wait for Steve to answer, he just let himself in. " _Heeeey_ , Cap." He eased himself into the chair in front of Steve's desk.

" _What_ do you want, Stark?" Steve took the hand wraps out of his pocket and dropped them onto the desk. He tried to open his top drawer and found it really was stuck now. He was doing anything to avoid meeting Tony's eyes.

"I came to apologize." Steve let out a short, mirthless laugh. "I was kind of an ass."

"Kind of?"

"Okay, I was a huge ass."

"I don't think I'm really the one you should be apologizing to, Tony."

"I know. But, JARVIS didn't think going back over to her place again would be a good idea. He didn't think searching your phone records for her number would be the greatest idea either." Steve set his jaw and agreed. "Pepper doesn't know. Please, don't tell Pepper." Tony looked earnest. Steve knew his relationship with Pepper had been strained since the whole legion-of-Iron-Men incident.

"I won't."

"Can you call Miss Mischief?" Steve cringed. When Tony found out that was what Onheil's name meant, he'd latched onto it. Steve wasn't entirely sure Onheil enjoyed the nickname. "I just want to apologize. I swear." After a few more minutes of Tony's groveling, Steve relented and pulled out his phone, thanking God he hadn't put it into the top drawer.

"Hello, Captain darling. You feeling better?"

"Hi. Yeah, I am."

"This better be good, then. Or an emergency. I already took my fifteen." Her tone was jovial.

"I'm sorry. I can call back later?"

"No, just tell me what you need to."

"Tony is here."

"And?"

"He wants to talk to you."

" _Fuck no._ I want nothing to do with that slimy bastard."

"Onheil, please. For me?"

"Fine."

She didn't sound like it was fine, but he handed the phone off to Tony anyway.

"Hey, there. I just wanted to say that I was sorry for this morning." Steve couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. "I know, I know. I'm the biggest idiot there ever was...Yes, I'm that too...Oh, c'mon now, is that any way for a lady to speak?" Steve had to look away to hold back a laugh. "It's just...last night was really important. Yes, I realize you understood that...I know you were there to support him...I can see that you love him. I'm pretty sure he loves you too, if he hasn't said that yet. He gets all moony when he talks about you...Yes, I know. I'm sorry, I'm not calling to tease you...I just...I wanted to leave some kind of legacy...I know I have the company. I know it's done a lot...Yes, I hope the Tower will be there for a long time...I mean, I wanted to leave a meaningful legacy. I wanted to do something that wasn't just about putting the Stark name on a product or being the first or the best. I wanted to give someone else the resources to be the first or the best. I wanted to enable someone else to make their mark on the world. You guys being front page news completely diverted attention from the event and the reason for the event...Well, it sort of is your damned fault!" Tony's face was screwed up in frustration. " _Fine._ You're right. It wasn't your fault...No, it wasn't Cap's fault either." Steve knew Onheil was talking circles around Tony from the expression on his face. She often caught him off guard in the same way, usually getting whatever it was that she wanted in the end. Her persuasiveness had resulted in a pretty nice tan for him that summer. There was still a line where the waistband of his pants sat. "Yes, I understand that. I know it's not about me. It's about the people who got the scholarships. Yes...yes...You're right. I'm sorry...Please?...Thank you."

Onheil had evidently hung up the phone on Tony, he handed the phone back to Steve. "I'm not sure she actually forgives me."

"What did you mean before? When you said Bruce was right." Tony looked to the side, trying to avoid the question. _"Tony."_

He sighed, "He...he just doesn't think that your relationship isn't the healthiest thing in the world." Steve frowned. "Man, you were kind of stalking the woman...for months. And you guys seem to have some devastating argument every couple of weeks. We were all pretty sure you were going to go Captain Hermit on us again last time." Steve sighed, he was right. "But, for the record, no matter what anyone else thinks, I think she's been good for you. You know, once you stopped with the McPervy stuff." He rose from his seat and moved toward the door. "Did you ever find out what her story is?"

"Yes."

"I take it you're not in a sharing mood."

"It's not my story to share."

"Fair enough." He opened the door. "Hey. Wait. Know that team-building weekend I was planning?" Steve nodded. "Invite Onheil." Steve wasn't sure that was appropriate. Tony shrugged. "Pepper will be there. Rhodes too. It won't just be the Avengers. I think Phil is coming. Maybe Fitz-Simmons? I don't know about his other team members. I think they're out on some recon mission somewhere." Steve pointed out that they were all people associated with the agency. Tony shrugged and pointed out that he didn't have many actual friends outside of the agency.

"I'll ask her. I won't make any promises."

***

Halloween fell on a Saturday. Loki had leveraged a day off from work so that she could have time to fulfill her promise to chaperon Owen on his trick-or-treating excursion. He'd been adamant that the Captain not accompany them. "Don't you like Steve? He's a hero. And a nice person." Owen shook his head and offered no explanation. His mother mumbled something about the boy being jealous. Loki held back a laugh.

Owen emerged from his apartment, empty pillowcase in hand, around lunchtime. He raised his arms over his head and roared. Loki found the action more comical than anything. He was wearing a pair of brown sweatpants that were cut to tatters at the bottom. One green sock was pulled up to his knee and the other had slouched down around the top of his sneaker. He was wearing a green hoodie and his face was painted green. His hair was sprayed with black color and his eyebrows looked like they'd been expanded with half a tube of mascara each. "He insisted on being the Hulk and he insisted he had to make the costume himself." Loki grinned. "He looks utterly terrifying. Someone, please, rescue me!" Owen grinned.

Loki had taken much more care in her own costuming. She'd made sure that it was both appropriate to accompany a child as well as for her purposes with Steve later in the evening. "I thought you were going to wear your costume from the party? You looked cool. It was better than a zombie." Loki thanked Owen as the child took her hand and led her out onto the street. They would be going to the local parish where a children's trick-or-treat event was being held in the basement before knocking on the doors of neighbors that Owen was familiar with. Loki was intrigued by the whole process. She was less intrigued by the destruction that had happened the night before. It wasn't mischief, it was _terror_. There were bits of toilet paper and residue from broken eggs and shaving cream all over the place.

"When we're done, will you sort my candy with me?"

"If we're not too late." Loki adjusted the blue helmet on her head, it had slid forward and was obscuring her vision. She hoped they reached the parish soon. The day had turned chilly and her legs and arms were bare. Oh, how she wished she had just worn her boots! She felt her toes might fall off soon they were so cold. They were headed toward the church that Steve attended. Loki had been surprised that he hadn't volunteered for the event.

The day seemed to stretch on endlessly. Loki was reminded why she'd adamantly been against any more children with Sigyn after the boys. They were like a small army of chaos. The added wildness from the day itself and the clearly sugary treats they were all consuming at an alarming rate certainly didn't help. She was exhausted by the time she was steering Owen through their apartment building and back to his own home.

"It's not too late, Ellie. You said you'd help me sort my candy." Owen was kneeling on the living room floor, upending the pillowcase that was bulging with loot. Loki sighed and sat down on the couch, sneaking a few Twizzlers for herself from the pile on the floor. By the time they were finished, Owen's parents arrived back home with Samantha, fresh from a doctor visit and thoroughly agitated. "Oh my, El," his mother said, "Captain Rogers isn't going to know what hit him."

Loki grinned. That was the idea.

***

Steve had spent the day at SHIELD. He wanted to be able to spend the whole afternoon and evening with Onheil and he'd had plenty of work to catch up on since he'd taken that one day off even after he'd stayed that evening and worked off the clock.

_"You on your way yet?"_

_"No. Work is crazy."_

_"But you promised."_

_"I know, I'm sorry."_

_"Can I let myself in?"_

_"Yeah. Something wrong?"_

_"Too many children. Too much candy. MUST ESCAPE."_

_"LOL <3"_

Steve finally got back to Brooklyn a little past dinnertime. He made a pit stop at the coffee shop to buy a pound. He was planning on breaking habit and sleeping in tomorrow. He'd even planned to go to the last Mass of the day rather than the first. He found himself breaking habit more and more. He found himself less and less on edge about it.

"Hey, Steve!" Steve greeted the barista. "Have you seen Onheil yet?" No, he hadn't. "Oh man." Steve couldn't get anything else out of the younger man. He had similar encounters with neighbors he was friendly with on the sidewalk and with the attendant in the lobby of his building. He couldn't imagine what was wrong that they were all talking about her for. It was like everyone except him was in on some huge secret.

He let himself into his apartment. It was dark. He had kind of hoped that Onheil would have ordered something for dinner. He was hungry. "Onheil? You here?"

"Back here."

Steve was confused. "Bedroom?"

"Indeed." 

Steve took off his jacket and kicked off his shoes before walking down the hall and turning the door knob, "What are you--" Steve was slightly speechless.

Onheil was kneeling toward the foot of the bed. One leg was flat on the mattress, the other was bent, the toe of the silver heeled shoe pointed sharply behind herself. Her legs were shiny with the silk from her stockings, a red seam crawled up the back of her calf. Her bottom half featured a blue and white pleated skirt. There was a fluffy blue crinoline peeking out from underneath. Beyond the red sash at her waist was a very fitted white blouse with a blue lapel. There were white stars on the lapel. One arm, hand covered by a fingerless, red leather glove was akimbo. The other was raised in salute, barely touching the blue M1 helmet on her head, his A stenciled onto the front. Her dark hair fell in pin-curls around her pale shoulders. It wasn't exactly what the girls on the bond tour had worn--her skirt was much longer, they'd worn opera-length satin gloves and what were supposed to look like garrison caps, her blouse wasn't backless--but he more than understood what she was supposed to be. The M1 hemlet on her head looked like the one that he had stolen from the girls' tent before he went rogue and went on his first rescue mission.

"I...I..." Steve gulped. "Holey moley." Onheil giggled and it sounded like music.

"You like it?"

"I love it."

She started to move, "Wait!" She froze, the most adorably surprised look on her face. "Can...Can I..." He gulped. "Can I take a picture?" She considered it for a moment then nodded and assumed the position she'd been in when Steve had walked in. Steve rushed back into the living room to get his phone from his jacket pocket. A million thoughts raced through his head. The most prominent one that he wished they were at Onheil's apartment. She had a nice camera. He'd never been interested in photography. Maybe he should develop an interest now. Steve blushed at his own thoughts. Seventy years ago he never would have found himself thinking those things. Heck, one year ago he never would have found himself thinking those things. He walked back into the bedroom and found himself hesitant. He would have to make sure he changed his password before he went anywhere near anyone else again. Especially Tony.

"Well?"

"I..."

"Steven, my arms are getting tired."

"Oh, sorry. I just...you look beautiful."

She blushed and smiled, "Thank you. Now take the damned picture." Steve chuckled and opened up the camera application on his home screen and snapped a photo. He chucked the phone onto his dresser and moved hesitantly toward the woman kneeling on his bed. He grasped her waist and pulled her toward himself, she squeaked in surprise and the saluting hand went to the top of her head to hold the helmet on. Steve's hunger was all but forgotten when her free hand slid up his arm and gripped his shoulder while he kissed her, throwing all of his hunger into it. She was making the most wonderful sounds. Sighing and groaning into him, the sounds vibrating against his lips and tongue. He pulled her body as flush to his as he possibly could. She pulled away breathlessly. "If you like this that much, I think you'll like what's _underneath_ even better." She smiled devilishly and when she let go of the helmet and put her other hand on his shoulder, it slid forward over her eyes. The two couldn't help but laugh. She tipped her head back and looked at him from beneath the front ridge of the helmet, "Unless this is too fast." He could tell she was raising an eyebrow at him from the pull of the muscles in her face.

He shook his head, unable to find words and afraid he would squeak like he was going through puberty if he did.

***

Loki took the helmet off of her head and set it down on the bed beside her before she leaned in to kiss her Captain again. She moved her hands down over his chest and pulled his sweater up. He released her lips and her waist long enough to let her pull it over his head. The action made his hair stick up at an odd angle in the back. She bit her lip to suppress a laugh. Evidently he found the expression attractive because he dove forward once again. She worked the tails of his shirt un-tucked and began to unbutton the front. Steve got impatient and pulled back to pull the shirt over his head still half buttoned. He had a white tee shirt underneath. "How many layers do you have _on_?" Steve laughed and pulled the tee off as well. Loki ran her fingers over his bare chest. "Much better."

Steve fingered the lapels of her blouse. She watched his face. His eyelids became heavy looking. The tip of his tongue slid over his bottom lip. She loved it when he looked his way. When he looked this way it was like his very being was naked, exposed, free. She drew in a deep breath and he pressed his hands to her bosom. His fingers moved hesitantly to the buttons down the front of her blouse. He looked up at her, like he was asking permission. She nodded. The blouse was pulled up out of the skirt and sash and unbuttoned slowly before it was pushed off of her shoulders and down her arms. She dropped it on the floor beside the bed. Steve's eyes stayed on her face. "You mean, you don't want to see what Katie did?" She grinned. He gulped. "I don't think everything is totally accurate, you know, to your time. I think I'm off by a decade. I didn't think you'd mind, though." Steve's eyes flicked down to her chest before he kissed her again. Loki pulled him down onto the bed on top of her. He attacked her throat with renewed fervor.

Steve slid down her body and knelt at the end of the bed. He picked up one of her legs and planted a line of kisses from her knee to her ankle before unbuckling her shoe and dropping it on the floor. He placed her leg down gently and repeated the action with the other leg. Loki couldn't help but smile. She moved herself to kneel in front of him. Her fingers moved over his face, down his neck, over his chest and stomach and hooked into his belt. "Do it."

Loki unbuckled the belt and slowly pulled it free of the loops. "You're sure?" He nodded. She dropped the belt on the floor and opened his fly and pushed his jeans down over his hips. He pulled them down the rest of the way and stepped out of them, pulling off his socks as well while he was bent down. His hands found the sash at her waist and untied it. She unfastened the hook and eye closure of the skirt and laid back to allow him to pull it and the crinoline down over her hips and down her legs. "Holey moley," he breathed.

***

Onheil laughed, "Is that the only adjective you know?" She put her arms casually up over her head. One leg was straight, the other bent casually. Steve dropped the skirt and the crinoline on the floor. She looked amazing. He didn't care that it wasn't what one of his bond tour girls would have worn.

The heels of the stockings were bright red and stretched into red seams up her legs. The top band matched. the white garters met up with a white girdle that stretched up to leave just an inch or so of skin between it and her bra. The front and sides had panels of matching red. There was tiny red bow at the top center. The closure down the side was made up of dozens of tiny hooks and eyes. Steve could see there was light boning in the girdle. It fit like it was painted onto her. The bra was red and white as well, divided at what would be the equator of her chest. There was the most unassuming keyhole of skin in the center between the wires. There was no doubt that Steve was aroused. He was suddenly conscious of how unclothed he was. "You going to help a dame out of this thing, soldier?"

"Oh, God."

Onheil's mouth formed a surprised _O_. She put a hand to her lips, "Blasphemy!" She giggled. Steve could feel his face get hot and turn as red as her stocking tops.

***

Steve was entirely too adorable when he was blushing that way. Especially standing at the edge of the bed in his white boxer shorts the way he was. He looked so young and innocent. She almost felt as though she was corrupting him.

He crawled forward and went to work with the garter clips. When the stockings were free, he carefully rolled each one down her leg and off her toes before kissing his way back up. "Whoever Katie is, I think I need to send her a letter of thanks." Loki couldn't help but laugh. Steve began to slowly unfasten the hooks down the side of the girdle. He focused his total attention on the process. He seemed almost reverent.

***

Steve reveled in each new inch of skin revealed as he opened the piece of shapewear. When it was flayed open all he wanted to do was say _holey moley_ , again. The white triangle of fabric was accented with red at the center. It was as small as it could possibly be while still covering her. The bright red satin ribbons arched up and over her hips. Onheil's breathing deepened. Her stomach hollowed and swelled with each breath, showcasing the light definition of muscle--feminine but hard. She sat up, pushing him back with a fingertip and swept the abandoned girdle off the bed. He ran his own fingers over the marks it had made on her porcelain colored skin and moved his hands across her back and down over her behind to feel the smooth mesh that completely covered her behind. She moved his hands to her hips and guided them down, making him pull the panties off of her. He moved back and pulled them off of her legs while she lounged on her elbows, head cocked to the side and watching him. The neat, soft triangle of hair was frame by her legs, one straight and one bent as before. She seemed to know exactly what poses presented her body to its best advantage. He almost felt guilty dropping the lingerie on the floor. It all must have cost her a small fortune. "I think you need to lose those."

"What?"

"Boxers. Lose 'em."

"Yes, ma'am."

Steve found his hands trembling when he pushed his underwear down over his hips and let them fall on the floor, slightly mortified when his hardness bobbed free of it's loose constraint. "Coming back?" He nodded and crawled onto the bed beside her. She turned so her body was over him. She hovered, straddling his hips. The anticipation as to what would come next was absolutely agonizing.

***

Loki paused, hovered. She liked the terrified and needy look on Steve's face. She reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. She slowly moved the straps down her arms and then held it out to the side and dropped it. She leaned down to kiss him and used a hand to balance on his chest. The other snaked between them and grasped his member. His breathing became labored. She closed her eyes and started to lower herself, her lips parting and panting herself. "Wait!"

Loki's eyes snapped open and she looked accusingly at Steve, the tip of him already within her. " _Now?!_ You pick now--" She gasped, her legs were starting to tremble. "--to tell me to stop?"

Panic washed over Steve's face. "I...I mean..." The arm braced against his chest was beginning to tremble. She had half a mind to just sit down, to take the decision out of his hands. That wouldn't be right, though. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. "I just..." He moved his hands to her hips. "Never mind." He put gentle pressure against her hips. "I want you. I want all of you. Right now." His voice was husky. His brow was furrowed. He guided her downward.

Loki felt wonderfully full. Wonderfully fulfilled.

***

Steve couldn't take his eyes off the space between their bodies. He watched himself disappear inside of her, watched as he felt himself enveloped in wonderfully warm and slick closeness. Onheil's breath was sporadic. She had a pained look on her face. "Are you okay?" Her fingernails were digging into his chest.

"What? Yes. I forgot how that felt."

"But you're okay?"

"Yes."

"We can stop."

"No. Only if you want to." She opened her eyes and looked at him pleadingly, "Please don't want to." He didn't.

She stayed still for several moments. Steve thought he was going to lose his his mind if she didn't start moving. He wasn't sure how to do this, how to start it. Everything with Peggy was always so frantic and rushed. He didn't know how to do slow. He wasn't sure the one time in his cot qualified as having done this in a bed, either.

Just when he really was seriously considering attempting to move her so that he was atop, Onheil began to roll her hips. The movement was glorious relief. She rocked. She rolled. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once. On her. On him. It was like their first night together when she'd brought herself to orgasm rubbing herself against him. He felt like he was just here to watch the show.

Steve reached up to touch her. He ran his fingers over the fading girdle marks. He gripped her hips, trying to make her press harder, to roll with more downward force. She took the hint. One hand left her hips and moved over his front, feeling with fingers and palm. He smoothed his hand up the center of her, from navel to sternum and back. He inched his fingers upward again until he was tracing the scar on her chest.

All motion stopped. Her hips stopped. The trembling in her legs stopped. Her eyes popped open and she looked horrified. "Don't."

"What did I do wrong?"

"Please. Just don't."

"Don't what?"

She took his hand away from her chest and placed it back on her hip. She held her own arm against herself, shielding that space on her chest. "Don't touch it. Please."

"Why? What is it from?"

"Because it is ugly."

"No, it's not. It's you. What is it from?"

"Heartbreak."

Steve didn't think she was going to say anymore. He wasn't about to push her. Not when he was so painfully hard and she was so maddeningly still. He pushed himself up on his elbows and sat up, doing his best to keep their bodies connected. He took her arm away from her chest and held her to him. He kissed her lips, her neck, her shoulders. She finally relaxed and returned the kisses, clinging to him. Steve took the opportunity to lay her down. She settled into his pillow. He no longer felt her around him. He reached downward blindly, trying to guide himself back into her. She watched him, the picture of patience, until he succeeded. She sighed with an open mouth when he entered her again.

He moved, taking over the duty. She continued to cling to him, devouring him with her lips and kneading and scratching with her hands. Eventually, she moved her body against him in an opposing motion. She cried out and gripped his shoulder harder when she'd achieved whatever friction she'd been looking for. Her legs wrapped around him and her heels pressed into his backside. He could hear himself grunting over the rush of blood in his ears. He could hear her gasping and sighing and moaning beneath him. Eventually, her body trembled. He felt her muscles contract around him. She dug her nails into his flesh. She froze, panting. "Oh, Steven," she whispered. Steve continued to move, she rolled against him again. He buried his face in the curve between her neck and shoulder as he came to his own completion.

Her legs relaxed. Her grip on his back became less severe. She caressed and kissed and murmured affectionate things into his ear. He regained his composure and moved himself off of her, disappointed at the feeling of the cool air touching his slick flesh when she had been so warm. He pulled her to himself, hugging her close and putting a leg over her as if trying to hide her from the rest of the world.

***

Loki was satiated and happy and warm. Steve's body was shielding her from the world, enveloping her in his warmth. She could not remember the last time she felt this way. Perhaps with Glut. At the very beginning. When she was young and naive and in the throes of first love.

Steve continued to press comforting kisses onto her lips for quite some time. It seemed as though he meant to keep her there, like he thought she would run away as soon as they were finished.

His body tensed. "Oh, no." She looked up at him and asked what the matter was. "I...I just...came." Loki laughed, yes, he had indeed. So had she. "Inside you, I mean. I didn't...I should have remembered to--" Loki cut him off with a kiss.

"Stop. Don't worry. It's fine."

"But--"

"Steve, it's _fine_. Nothing will happen."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." It was nothing a little herbal infusion couldn't take care of. It had been a while, but she'd spent enough time as a woman to know what to do. Even if she hadn't, she'd spent enough time skulking about the kitchens, eavesdropping on the maids and cooks to know how to handle herself.

She kissed and caressed and cooed reassuringly until Steve drifted toward sleep with his arms around her.

"I love you, Steven Rogers."

She felt him smile against her skin, "I love you, Onheil Ferguson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!
> 
> If anyone is interested, the lingerie Loki is wearing is the Marlene collection from What Katie Did. If you look at the girdle, I think it's L3033, the model is wearing the whole set.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed it, I know Steve and Loki certainly did.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	38. Petrichor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets persuasive.

"I love you, Steven Rogers."

"I love you, Loki Friggason." 

Loki didn't know whether he felt like crying out of joy or crying out of disappointment. He knew it was just a dream. Germany had been different this time. He'd simply stood on the steps and waited. Barton and his eyeball be damned. He knew the Captain would come, and come he did. They were on an aircraft. Loki had no idea who was piloting it and he didn't care. The moment they'd stepped on board, the Captain had doffed his masked helmet and cowl and attacked with lips rather than fists. They were lying tangled in each other on the cold and unforgiving metal floor. Loki couldn't remember ever even removing the Captain's uniform. It seemed to have been there one moment and gone the next. Steve's cheeks were flushed with exertion, Loki could feel the heat of them against his chest where the man was resting. His legs felt like jelly. His hips were sore from the force with which the Captain had gripped them.

Loki could feel a finger tracing down the line of the scar on his chest and upper abdomen. "Please don't." He stopped the hand from moving and pulled the fingers to hips lips instead. "What is it from?" Loki sighed. "A broken heart. And a very sharp blade." He felt Steve nod against him as if he understood. Loki had an inkling that somehow, the man might actually understand. He had his own heartbreak. His had come from a very fast bullet and a very cold ocean. He didn't have any visible scars, but they were there all the same.

Loki woke to the familiar sound of a pencil scratching across paper. There was light in the room but she knew it was too early for daylight to be that strong. She stayed still. She neither wanted to upset Steve's work by disturbing the mattress with movement nor did she want to distract him. If he was sketching this early rather than getting ready to go out for his run, then it must be something important--whether it was a sudden, dreamt inspiration or an attempt to work through some issue that had sprung up in the night.

Loki couldn't help but be slightly disappointed that she wasn't waking in his arms the way she'd fallen asleep. The pencil continued to scratch.

Eventually, Loki could no longer stand to be still. "If you are drawing my rear end, I promise you, it is not worth wasting a page on."

***

Steve had to laugh. He had figured she'd been awake for some time. He'd listened to the odd progression of the pattern of her breathing for around an hour. It had gone from calm to labored, reminding him of the way she'd struggled for breath during the course of their lovemaking, and had finally evened and deepened. He supposed she may have been dreaming. He hoped it was a dream and not a nightmare. He had enough nightmares in this bed for the both of them. She seemed to have them herself often, but she would never tell him what they were about. He could only imagine they had something to do with whatever she was running from. She would wake him with the force of her grip on his arms or his hair. She would wake herself crying or screaming. The worst nights were those when they were sleeping in her bed and they both woke from some terror. Steve would inevitably forget where he was and panic. His panic would frighten her more than she had been already. Steve was just glad that he hadn't woken in sheets dampened from more than sweat in a while. That would be too embarassing to handle.

When the pattern of breath became more shallow, he knew she'd woken. She didn't move, though, and he was certainly content with that.

She was right. He was drawing her rear end. He'd wanted to capture the fluid curve of her body. The pools of shadow on her flesh when he'd turned the light on were too hard to resist. He was working on the tumble of curls over her shoulders and back when she pulled her arms out from under the pillow and turned front her stomach onto her back. She ran her hands up her body casually and stretched her arms out up over her head while her feet pointed like a dancer and her toes curled. "Good morning."

Steve grinned, "You too, Lovebug."

Onheil wrinkled her nose, "Lovebug?" Steve shrugged. He didn't have a pet name for her, he thought he'd try it out. If she didn't like it, he didn't have to use it. "It felt a little wrong to start calling you 'Ellie' and I know you hate it when Tony calls you 'Miss Mischeif.' You have something you call me. I felt left out." She smiled. One hand trailed down to the side of her face against the pillow. She bit her thumb through a grin and nodded. 

"It's silly. I like it."

Steve could feel his face flush before all of his blood rushed downward. She was still wearing the fingerless, red leather gloves. Somehow they were the only item of clothing that had managed to stay on either of their bodies the night before. "Let me see."

"What?"

"My rear end in your drawing. Let me see." She turned over onto her elbow and made to grab for the sketchbook. Steve held onto it slightly more securely and drew his leg closest to her a little higher. "It's _my_ bum. Let me see." He relented and allowed her to have the sketchbook. "I am not this shapely." She raised an eyebrow at him and then grinned. "It's lovely." She leaned back and put the book down on the night stand on her side of the bed. "And so is what you're hiding."

She rolled back toward him and straddled his leg. He was half hard and already his heart was pounding. "What are you doing?" She was rubbing her gloved hands over his chest.

"You have pencil on your face, you know."

"I'm a mess."

"You're my mess."

She took him into her hand and stroked him to full hardness. "Tell me when." Steve had no idea what she meant. She moved to straddle him fully and slowly sank down onto him. She closed her eyes and made a fluttery sound. Steve couldn't help but groan at the welcome closeness and warmth of her.

Onheil began to roll her hips. Steve decided he needed to take a more active roll in their mutual pleasure than he had started with the night before. He gripped her sides and rolled his own hips. Her body undulated above him. He leaned forward and strained upward to press his lips to her throat, looking for that spot. When she trembled, he knew he'd found it. He moved his mouth lower, feeling bolder and relaxing the curve of his spine, he drew one of her pale pink nipples between his lips as casually as he could and bit down lightly. She squeaked and gripped his hair. Evidently he'd had the right idea.

She kept making "ahh" sounds every time her hips slid forward, just like she had that first night, every time she ground down against his belt buckle. He was beginning to think this may be her preferred position. Her volume was increasing ever so slightly. She rolled with more force. Steve had released one nipple in favor of the other. He bit down lightly again. She shook. Her back arched and pressed her flesh to his face before her body sagged, spent. She continued to move, much more slowly than before. It was like torture.

She just kept moving. When he just about thought he was going to lose his mind, Steve realized what she'd meant. "When," he croaked out. " _When._ Whenwhenwhen--" Suddenly, he was no longer surrounded by warmth and closeness. He felt the soft leather of her glove against his skin. She was still pressed against him, although with his arms around her, he supposed it would be impossible for either of them to move. He could feel her knuckles moving up and down and back and forth against his stomach where the muscles were clenching out of his control and soon he was coming.

***

Steve was clinging to her to hold himself up. Her hands were trapped between their bodies. Her skin was just as slick and flushed as his was. Now that she'd had him, she wasn't sure she could ever get enough. Loki never wanted to leave the bed. She wanted to just exist in a bubble and let the world keep turning around them. Maybe the Super Serum would keep him young and beautiful forever. Then she would not have to watch him grow old and wither away. The thought horrified her.

Loki allowed him to hold her for what felt like eternity. She bent her head down and kissed the top of his head. "Steve, darling." He looked up at her with such need, such openness, she thought she might cry. "Are we going for a run?" He shook his head and pressed his face to her bosom again. She maneuvered their bodies into a more comfortable lounging position. He just kept clinging. "Steven, I'm not going anywhere."

***

Steve couldn't bring himself to do anything more but hold on. He didn't want to leave the bed. He just wanted to exist in a bubble and let the rest of the world turn around him and Onheil. He wondered for a moment if the serum would keep him youthful. He still didn't fully understand the way it had changed him. It horrified him to think that he would have to watch Onheil grow older. He didn't want that to happen. He just wanted to live in that moment with her and her beauty and her wonderful spirit for as long as he could.

Every time he'd been with Peggy it had been rushed. Hurry and get off before the next order was issued. The next bullet sped past your ear. The next bomb exploded. The next group of prisoners needed to be rescued. The next HYDRA base needed to be destroyed. Get off before you had to leave. Get off before you died.

He didn't want that with Onheil. He wanted slow. He wanted passion. He wanted to be with her with all of his senses, not just his pounding heart and sweating skin. "Steven," she said softly as she stroked his hair, "I'm not going anywhere." He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding on to her. He let his body relax and released her from his embrace. "Sorry."

She kissed his forehead. "Don't be." She skooched down to meet his gaze, "Are you still here with me? Where did you go?"

"War."

"Oh, Steven."

He felt embarrassed at how calm and understanding she was. At how she didn't seem offended that making love to her--that's what they were doing, right? making love, not screwing or fucking or humping--had been a trigger for him.

They stayed in bed until the sun rose in earnest. "If you're not running, then perhaps we should get you into a shower." He nodded and let her lead him into the bathroom.

***

Steve showered while Loki cleaned the dried semen from her glove and worked a brush through the absolute mess that her hair had become during the night. When he was through, they switched. The warm water felt glorious against her now clammy skin. She could hear Steve moving through the motions of running the blow dryer over his hair and brushing his teeth. 

***

Onheil was humming. It wasn't unusual. She hummed while she worked. While she painted. While she contorted her body to get the perfect angle for a photograph without disturbing the subject. While she walked through the park. While she stroked his hair and watched over his shoulder as he read or sketched.

"I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, 'I'll never let you go.' When all those shadows almost killed your light I remember you said, 'Don't leave me here alone.' But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight."

He paused, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, and listened. She was barely audible over the water running.

"Just close your eyes. The sun is going down. You'll be alright. No one can hurt your now. Come morning light you and I'll be safe and sound--"

"Onheil?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

Steve felt like whatever she was singing was just as much for her as it was for him.

***

Loki did not want to go to church. "Steve, please, don't ask me again. You know I don't believe in your god."

" _The_ God."

" _Your_ god."

Steve frowned at her. "Just come. You'll like the music." Loki crossed her arms and shook her head.

"The church will fall down around me."

"You were there yesterday. I'm pretty sure it's still standing."

"That didn't count. I wasn't there at a time of worship."

"It's always a time of worship inside a church."

"I did not bring appropriate clothing. You always wear your best shirt and pants."

"God doesn't care what you come dressed in as long as you're there."

"No, I think you don't care what I'm dressed in as long as I'm there."

"All the more reason for you to come."

"I can't. I've turned you into a sinner. I've tempted you into pre-marital intercourse. I am an agent of Lucifer come to corrupt the good Captain." At least that was what the Christians had compared her to so long ago, when people changed their view of her from one of good-natured but dangerous mischeif-maker to embodiement of evil.

"Onheil, I wasn't a virgin."

"Well--"

"Well, you don't have a good enough excuse."

Loki scowled at the mug she was pulling down from the cabinet. When had Steve's tongue started to turn as silver as her own?

***

Steve knew he'd won the argument when the mug went down onto the counter just a little bit too hard. In spite of the discussion, his mind was far from church. Onheil was standing in the kitchen in her underwear and his shirt from yesterday. It was rumpled from its night on the floor. Girls in movies today were always doing that--wearing their man's shirt. He'd never thought he'd have a girl in his kitchen this way. He never thought he'd have _Onheil_ in his kitchen this way.

The thought occurred to him that she was constantly pilfering his clothes. His collection of sweatpants and tee shirts had certainly diminished. One or two of his dress shirts had disappeared after leaving on her body after she'd spent the night. It always thrilled him to see something of his on her. She always managed to make it look wonderful. Seeing her in one of his shirts while she danced through the tables at the coffee shop never failed to make him blush.

It was kind of annoying when he wanted to wear something and realized it was no longer in his possession. Especially when his favorite hoodie had gone missing. She'd returned it the next day, but it had agitated him nonetheless.

Onheil poured steaming coffee into the mug she'd taken down and turned toward him, "Blaaahh..." Steve had to laugh when she stopped herself from repeating his usual order the way she did when she delivered it to his table. He got up and went over to her. He look the mug from her hands and set it back down on the counter. He fingered the collar of the shirt she was wearing.

"My shirt looks good on you."

"Good, cause I think I'm keeping it."

"No, you're not. I can't afford to lose any more shirts. You're always stealing my shirts. And my sweatpants. What is it with you and my sweatpants?"

"I'm not always stealing your shirts. I'm borrowing them, fully intending to give them back, but then you blush so adorably when I wear one and I can't bring myself to return them."

"So you're saying if I was less adorable, I'd have more shirts?"

"I think so."

"Well then that settles it. I'm going to be less adorable and more...forceful. And I'm not gonna lose any more shirts."

"Really?"

"Really. In fact," he moved to unbutton the front of the shirt. Dear Lord, thank goodness she was wearing a bra. He wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself if she wasn't. "In fact, I'm gonna take this one back right now."

"Good for you." He slipped it off her shoulders and it fell to the floor.

Steve leaned in to kiss her, long and lingering, before he playfully smacked her behind. She jumped in surprise. "Go get dressed. I'll finish making breakfast. We'll go to Mass and then wander around the city." Onheil stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. She wanted to skip Mass and just wander the city together. "Nope. We're going. It's a holy day of obligation. I'll have to spend extra time repenting if I don't go." She sighed heavily and stalked off to the bedroom.

Steve found that he couldn't quite concentrate on the Mass. Onheil was beside him, her arm looped through his. She stood and sat when he did. She bowed her head politely when he knelt. She allowed the pastor to bless her, the sign of the cross drawn on her forehead with his thumb, when she followed Steve up the center aisle during Communion. She picked up the melodies to the hymns quickly, able to sing along quietly with him by the time the second verses and refrains rolled around. It wasn't any of that that was keeping him distracted, though. It was her choice of clothes. She was wearing the same long green sweater and black leggings that she'd been in the day in the park, in the middle of Spring. The day that he'd had his breakdown. The day that started his week of hermitage. The day that had finally determined what exactly was wrong with him. The week that had finally brought them together in the end.

They were standing near a window. The sunlight had dimmed. He could hear rain hitting the stained glass. He hoped it would stop before Mass ended, neither of them had brought an umbrella.

Steve found himself and Onheil herded down to the basement of the church with the rest of the congregation, cups of coffee from the large urns on the kitchen counter pressed into their hands. He finished his quickly and politely--it was horrible, it was always horrible--and Onheil passed her cup over to him. He didn't think he'd actually ever seen her drink coffee. Which struck him as ironic.

"So this is the infamous girlfriend." One of the older church ladies had sidled up to them and immediately launched into a round of good-natured interrogation. "You were here yesterday, weren't you? With Susan's boy."

Onheil nodded, "Yes, they're neighbors. I took Owen for the day so that Sue and Reed could take Samantha to the doctor."

The woman studied her for a moment over the brim of her cup. "You were wearing that adorable Captain America costume." Her eyes flicked to Steve and returned to Onheil.

Onheil's cheeks flushed red for a moment, "Yes. And Owen was the Hulk. We were missing a few Avengers, sadly."

"Mhmm." The sound went up in pitch at the end. Steve snaked his arm protectively around Onheil's waist. He didn't like the implication of that pitch.

"I thought her costume was great. Looked like one of the girls I went on tour with back in the day." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Still don't know how you ladies walk around in heels like that all day."

The rain had mercifully stopped by the time they escaped the after-Mass brunch hour. "Sorry about that. I didn't think they would be so nosey." She shook her head, it was alright. "Did you enjoy the music?" Onheil nodded, she had. It was quite lovely. "Will you come back with me again?"

"If you wish it."

"I wish it."

"Then I shall. If I'm not working."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to start taking more Sunday morning shifts?" She grinned.

Steve breathed in the moist air deeply. He loved the smell that it had right after a rain storm. It was new and fresh. Almost metallic. You could taste it on your tongue and feel it on your skin. It was as if the earth had shook off an old skin, like a snake or a beetle emerging from an out-grown shell. It felt like a new beginning.

"There's a name for that smell, you know." Onheil was skipping over a puddle at the corner, loosely holding his fingers and pulling him after her.

"Really?"

"Mhmm."

"What?"

"Petrichor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! I hope everyone liked it.
> 
> The song Loki is singing in the shower is "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift from the Hunger Games soundtrack.
> 
> Did everyone catch the Chris Evans/Colin Shea reference?
> 
> Did everyone like the nod to the Fantastic Four? And before anyone says it, yes, I know I said Owen's mom was a ginger and I know that Sue Storm is not. It's just a nod, not actually them.
> 
> And finally, for DrC, I finally got Lovebug in there! :D
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback!
> 
> PS: I'm thinking about writing a one-shot/companion piece from Tony's POV. I'd been playing with the idea before, but since everyone reacted so strongly to his behavior it's been nagging at me even more to be written. It would probably cover from the introduction of Fitz-Simmons to either his blow up or his apology. Would that be something you'd all be interested in reading?


	39. Hit Me with Your Best Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night and day one of Tony's team weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Dubious consent. There's never exactly a "no" but there's never exactly a "yes" either. Onheil get's treated rather roughly.
> 
> Fair warning.

The week went by and an impossibly slow pace. Steve was beginning to get frustrated that he hadn't gotten to see Onheil since Sunday.

"So, you two have become...sexually active?" Steve blushed at the question and nodded. "And you're okay with that?"

"More than okay."

Dr. Cooper shrugged, "I just didn't think that you'd move toward that kind of a physical relationship."

Steve narrowed his eyes, "I'm kind of tired of everyone assuming I'm stuck in the '40s, doc. I'm kind of tired of everyone assuming that I'm some completely inexperienced, terrified virgin." The doctor put his hands up defensively, he hadn't meant any offence by it. "I didn't grow up in a damn convent. I know very well what men and women do together. Not having luck with girls before the serum didn’t make me completely ignorant, either. "

"My assumptions weren't based on the era you grew up in or how you behaved before you were recruited by Dr. Erksine. They were based on your devotion to your faith."

Steve nodded, mulling over the thought. "You're right. It is a sin." He looked down at the floor and studied the pattern in the carpet. "I don't feel guilty about it though. I feel like...like we're supposed to be, you know, physical. I'm a man. She's a woman. We love each other." He looked back up at the therapist, "And I can't see myself with anyone else. If I could imagine life with anyone else, then I think I'd have a problem. I feel more guilty about thinking another woman is attractive than I do about violating some church doctrine. I don't think there's anything shameful about giving myself fully to someone I love. She makes me feel safe and stable. She lets me be myself. I don’t think having faith is undermined by doing something you feel with someone you love, it’s undermined by completely ignoring your values or someone else’s. Having sex doesn’t make me a bad Christian. "

Dr. Cooper scribbled a note into the journal he took out whenever Steve had a session. The man wrote in shorthand and Steve never knew what he was writing. "Which brings me to why I mentioned the sex."

"That I had a flashback?"

"Yes and no, more that you've been having frequent flashbacks. Clearly you're not as stable as you claim you feel. Are you taking your meds?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah."

"Are you taking the correct dose, the correct frequency?"

_"Yes."_

"You're sure?" Steve gritted his teeth and nodded. "And the intensity of the flashbacks is still increasing, no?"

"Yeah." Steve was embarrassed. "I'm kind of agitated all the time, lately. I sort of destroyed my desk. It's not an excuse, but I was provoked. It was either the desk or the guy's face. I think I made the better choice." Fury had mentioned as much. "And I really don't like that you and Fury are talking about me. Did doctor-patient confidentiality go completely out the window?"

"I don't have a choice, Steve. I don't share anything that isn't essentially relevant to your continued function as an agent or the safety of those around you. You know I'm employed by SHIELD. You know that _your_ employment by SHIELD depends on your progress here and your ability to maintain stability. Fury doesn't want a loose cannon in the field."

That made Steve mad. He could feel his face contort with it. "I'm not a  _fucking_  loose cannon."

"I think we need to adjust your meds again."

"Is that all my life is ever going to be? Play with meds. Have a few weeks, maybe a month, of semi-clear-headedness. Get agitated. Play with meds. I don't like them. I don't like feeling so...so...fuzzy. They help. They absolutely help. But I feel like I've got a mosquito net wrapped around myself half the time." Steve had spent 70 years being a glorified dead guy. He didn’t want to be walking around feeling dead inside. Onheil had told him he was reading too many horror stories and that the people who claimed to feel that way often had larger issues or weren’t in therapy or didn’t have support systems they felt they could rely on…or…whatever.

"Steve, I can't give you an answer. I don't know how the serum is really altering the effectiveness of the medication. I’m a head doctor, not a biochemist. Quite frankly, if you'd just let Fitz-Simmons run you through the paces, I could probably figure things out a little easier."

"No way. I'm not going near that girl's lab again."

"She's not going to take a vitreous fluid sample, Steve."

"She said she could get better results from it. You didn't see the look on her face."

"She couldn't have been serious."

"She had the same look on her face Tony gets."

"From what I've read, it's used to get postmortem samples for toxicology screenings." Steve felt a shiver run down his spine. "Steve, she can't get a postmortem sample if you're not dead. And you're not. So don't worry. If it makes you feel better, why don't you ask Dr. Banner to work with Agent Simmons? You know he'll look out for your best interest; he wouldn't let her do anything that wouldn't get a valuable result." Steve supposed he was right. The therapist glanced at the clock. "In the meantime," he scribbled something on the blue pad off his desk. "Let's try this dosage. If it's just a matter of the medication metabolizing out too quickly, a higher dose might be the answer."

_"Hey!"_

_"Good evening, Captain darling."_

_"Good evening, Lovebug."_

_"Silly."_

_"Sexy ;)"_

_"What's up, my dear?"_

_"Nothing. Just wanted to talk."_

_"Did you see Dr. C today?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"Did something happen?"_

_"Sort of. New script."_

_"Oh?"_

_"He's worried about the flashbacks. Called me a loose cannon."_

_"You're not."_

_"I know."_

_"Then don't worry."_

_"He wants me to let F-S run tests."_

_"Oh?"_

_"I don't wanna."_

_"Don't blame you. Why don't you just call me?"_

_"Train. Someone is blasting a radio."_

_"Ah. Damn those whippersnappers and their racket!"_

_"LOL"_

_"I miss you."_

_"Ditto. I have to ask you something."_

_"That doesn't sound good."_

_"Give me a few minutes. Getting to my stop. I'll call when I'm above ground."_

_"Okie dokie."_

Steve's phone buzzed again when he emerged from the subway stairwell. Onheil had sent him a link. He clicked it. It took a minute for the video to load when the application launched.

_Hey brother, there's an endless road to re-discover. Hey sister, know the water's sweet but blood is thicker. Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do._

Steve couldn't help but smile. He held his phone up and bobbed his head along to the beat of the guitar strums and the electronic beat of a drum.

_What if I'm far from home? Oh, brother I will hear you call. What if I lose it all? Oh, sister I will help you out! Oh, if the sky comes falling down for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do._

He watched as the words to the song flashed across the screen. She always seemed to know the right thing to say, exactly what he needed to hear--even if the words didn't come directly from her. He found himself whistling the song as he walked up to his building. "Hey."

Onheil rose from her seat on the bottom step as he came toward it. "Thought you'd rather talk directly to me. How'd the session go?" Rough. "I'm sorry. Can I do something?" She snaked her arms around his waist and he pulled her close. They stood that way for a few moments. "Steve?" Her voice was muffled against his jacket. "You're suffocating me." He released her and moved to sit them down on the stoop again. The concrete of the steps was cold; he could feel it through his jeans. "So what is so important that you have to ask me?"

"It's Tony, actually." She frowned. "I know, I know! You don't want anything to do with him. He's really trying though, he's sorry and I think it's genuine. He asked me to invite you to this weekend thing he's been planning that day and he's been pestering me about it ever since." She sighed and asked what exactly it was. "To be honest, I don't know. He rented out some hotel-cabin-thing? Somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania. Poconos, I think. Someplace to relax away from the city and the paparazzi." She nodded. The insistent photographers seemed to have become a bit more present in their lives since the benefit. Steve could tell she was anxious about it, about her photo getting out and someone she knew from home seeing it. She didn't need to spell it out for him. When he noticed a camera pointed in their direction he tried to pull her closer or hide her face in some way. He found himself wearing his Dodgers cap and sunglasses more often to try and throw them off. They were catching on though; he'd need to find a new disguise. "The team will be there. You've already met Tony and Pepper and Bruce. Natasha briefly." Onheil frowned; she didn't think Natasha cared for her. "Natasha doesn't really care for anyone. I'm not even sure she likes us sometimes. Did you meet Clint? He was at our table—Indiana Jones. I don't think I actually introduced you to him. He's not the most social in the world, but he's a decent person." He went on to tell her who else Tony had confirmed was coming. She pointed out that they seemed to be all SHIELD agents. "Not Rhodes. Or Pepper." She rolled her eyes, they might as well be. "I know. You can say no. And I don't have to go either."

"Yes, you  _do_  have to go. You don't spend enough time with them."

"I spend every day at work with them. And I spend enough evenings at the Tower training or planning."

"You don't spend enough time with them socially anymore. You spend all of it with me."

"I like spending it with you."

"You can't neglect them. They're your team. Your family. You said it yourself."

Steve frowned, "You're right." He looked at her hopefully. "Will you come? To meet the rest of my family?"

"If it will make you go, then yes." She put a finger up, "But I do require something in return."

"Anything."

"You must take me out dancing when we come home."

"Of course."

"Real dancing. Not just thrashing around. Maybe lessons. I want you to look at me and not your feet."

"If you say so."

"And one other thing."

"You're  _so_  demanding."

She rolled her eyes at him. "You must allow Miss Simmons run her tests." Steve started to object and she stopped him with a kiss. "If it will help figure out a more appropriate course of medication or therapy, then it is worth her...enthusiasm. And maybe it will help you understand more about what Erksine did to you. Wouldn't you like to understand yourself better?"

"Why are you always right?"

"I haven't the slightest idea. I must be magic."

"Must be." He leaned forward to kiss her. "Can you stay the night?" She shook her head; she had to be in Manhattan early in the morning.

"I don't think that I would be able to drag myself away from your bed. It is far too comfortable. And there's this big oaf who sleeps there. He's like a magnet that I can't get away from."

Steve laughed and put out a hand to help her up. "I'll come over Friday night then? I think Tony wants everyone to meet at the Tower and leave together from there."

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you this week." He shook his head. He knew she was busy.

"Will you have time for a run in the morning?"

"I believe that can be arranged."

 Steve was waiting for Onheil at the subway stop near the Brooklyn Museum when she emerged from it Friday evening after her shift at the library in Manhattan. They ordered in and Steve sat cross-legged on her bed while she packed clothes for the weekend. "Do you have any idea what we're going to be doing?" Unfortunately he didn't. Onheil sighed. Over the course of their relationship, since she'd met Tony, Steve found she wasn't a fan of his surprises.

They took the train into Manhattan and walked to Stark Tower, hand in hand. "You're late, Spangles."

"Hello, Tony." JARVIS had warned them of Stark's displeasure as they rode up to the residential floor in the elevator. "I can't help it if there are delays on the trains. They were doing work on the 4." The rest of the Avengers and Tony's other various guests had already assembled in the living room.

***

Clint had been enjoying his beer. It was some imported thing that Tony had pressed into his hands, but it was good. Smooth. Kind of citrus-y. Tasted like summer in a bottle. His mouth turned slightly sour when Cap and his girlfriend walked in, finally.

"They were doing work on the 4."

She was glued to his side, her head slightly bowed. She hadn't seemed that shy at the benefit. She'd spoken to whoever came up to her. She seemed confident and, quite frankly, a little bit cocky. Like she knew she was the most buzzed about person in the room and didn't mind if everyone else knew it too--kind of like Tony, but less overbearing. She had been soft and slow with Cap, though. Looked like she knew exactly when to turn it on and off. Clint couldn't tell if she was playing him or not. Cap was always so goo-goo-eyed when he talked about her. Clint hadn't met her before the benefit, but he knew that she'd spent a few evenings at the Tower with Cap, Stark, and Banner. His impression of her was built entirely from Cap's descriptions and tempered with Natasha's opinions that something wasn't quite right.

"She's entirely too familiar," Natasha kept saying. "I can't find a damned thing on her, though."

"You think she's got red in her ledger?"

"Maybe."

Clint didn't like her eyes. They gave him that deja vu feeling. That makeup she'd worn to the benefit hadn't helped. "What is she supposed to be?"

Natasha leaned in close as they danced. She was leading again. He hated when she didn't let him lead, "Steve designed it or something. He said JARVIS said he looked Danish. They're just supposed to match, I think."

"He looked like a pastry? I bet apple. Most patriotic of the danish family."

"You're an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot."

The costume had bothered him all night. Then it hit him. That headdress...thing. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and snatched the napkin out from underneath Natasha's vodka.  _Loki._  He pushed the napkin toward her and she gave him a concerned look. Not in his head, dammit, it was quiet in his head for once.  _Costume._  She frowned and drowned the napkin in her drink, the ink swirling away into the liquid.

***

The entire group piled into what could only be called a tour bus. Onheil was quiet during the ride. Steve kept squeezing her hand to reassure her that she would be fine and he wanted her there.

"I'm going to want you to myself at some point this weekend," she whispered to him as they slipped past each other in the narrow hall that led to the restroom. "I'd kind of like you to myself right now, to be honest." She looked at him, and in the dim light, her green eyes sparkled wickedly. He blushed. "There you go, looking all adorable. Be careful you don't lose another shirt."

When they arrived at their destination, it was late. The house Tony had rented was more like a log mansion than a log cabin, although, Steve didn't expect much less from him in the extravagance department. It was secluded. The property extended for a few acres all around. They would have to drive to their nearest neighbor. It was much colder up here in the mountains. He was pretty sure Onheil might be regretting some of her clothing choices. Clearly she hadn't known how cool it could get up here, especially in the fall. He hadn't thought to inform her.

The party lounged in the extensive living room, warmth and light radiating from the fireplace. Onheil's skin was so cold. He couldn't believe she didn't have goosebumps. He left her curled against a beanbag near the fire and went to the foyer to get his jacket. When he came back he draped it over her like a blanket. She drew the collar up under her chin and curled her legs under herself. The soft brown leather swallowed her up and he couldn't help but feel that it looked particularly perfect.

***

Loki allowed the Captain to dote on her, but she could not drop her guard. Here she was, surrounded by potential enemies at his request. When had she gotten so compliant? She kept her mouth mostly shut, trying to ask questions here and there to pull any useful information out of the odd assortment of people.

Steve's weight was steadily growing heavier against her shoulder. His eyes looked heavy. She took the bottle of beer out of his hands and placed it on the other side of herself when it started to tip. Eventually he was softly snoring against her shoulder. Several people had already made their way to their rooms. The few that remained were well on their own way to sleep through either general tiredness or intoxication.

Loki gently shifted and shook Steve's shoulder to wake him. "Captain darling," she said softly, "let's get you to bed." Steve blinked at her, confused for a moment, then turned red. The medication was making him drowsy since he'd started the new dosage level. He'd complained of it for the past few days, even finding he'd been out cold at his desk during his lunch hour one afternoon. Loki was fairly sure he hadn't shared his symptoms with anyone else and didn't want to draw attention to it. He rubbed his face and shifted off of her, searching for a moment for the bottle that had been in his hand. Loki got up and stood over his stretched out legs, holding out both hands to help him up. He put his arm heavily over her shoulder. "Sorry, guys," he apologized to the room in general.

"Well aren't you two just fucking adorable." Loki snapped her head toward the sound of the slightly slurred speech. Barton. Loki narrowed her eyes but didn't answer, focusing instead on getting the lead-footed man leaning on her up to bed safely. When she'd navigated them to their room--it wasn't hard to find, Tony had thought he was being funny and put a symbol for each person on their respective doors and, surprise, surprise, there was the Captain's shield (she had to wonder for a moment what a picture of her helmet would look like hanging beside it)--she led Steve over to the bed. "Down you go."

Steve let go of her and flopped down heavily. "I'm sorry, Lovebug." She smiled as she sat down on the floor and untied his shoes before removing them. "Sorry for what, being tired? You need a decent night's sleep. That's nothing to apologize for." When she stood, he was awkwardly pulling his sweater up over his head, still lying down. She let him struggle for a moment, far too entertained when his arms became entangled over his head. She freed him after the muffled call for help came from inside the thick cable knit.

Loki went to pull out Steve's cozy flannel pajamas from his bag while he finished undressing. She found herself blushing lightly when she turned back around to find him nude, save for socks, his clothing in a heap on the floor. She handed him the pajamas and turned to find her own. After dressing, she crawled into bed beside Steve and hunkered down under the thick comforter. "I wanted to be with you tonight," he said softly. Loki shook her head and kissed him, tangling their legs together under the covers. "I want to be with you every night." He kissed her softly, languidly, in a way that belied his fatigue. "Your feet," he said between kisses, "are...frozen." She snorted back a laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised...if...they were...blue."  _Oh, Steve._  He didn't know how close he was to the truth. Loki got out of bed and pulled her socks back on. She didn't know why she'd bothered to take them off. Steve was constantly complaining, although politely, about the temperature of her hands and feet. She couldn't help it. She fell off to sleep wrapped in Steve's embrace.

 ***

The following morning, the entire house was roused early by JARVIS' voice. "Tony, did you buy this place too?" Rhodes was shaking his head in disbelief. "Nah," Tony grinned, "Just hacked into their security system. Jarve is using the intercoms to talk to us." The AI confirmed it. After a hearty breakfast Tony announced that he'd ripped them all out of bed at such an early hour because they actually had about an hour of travel ahead of them. "It was the only time I could book the paintball field for a private game. The manager didn't seem to know or care who she was dealing with." He seemed baffled at the concept that someone wasn't charmed by him or his wealth.

When they reached the field, they were directed to a building where they could get protective gear and change into more suitable clothing if they so wished. The majority of the group hadn't been aware that this would be a part of the weekend. Steve waited outside the women's locker room, a mask under each arm. Onheil emerged laughing alongside Pepper. "It'll be fun, I promise!" Pepper was tightening the ponytail at the back of her head. "I've actually done this once before. It's kind of...exhilarating. And it's entirely too funny to watch Tony get frustrated when he gets shot. The man has absolutely no concept of stealth."

Steve grinned and held the mask out to Onheil, "That's for damn sure." He was glad that she was getting along. She'd been so quiet last night. He wasn't used to her being quite so shy. Elusive, maybe, but never shy. He was glad to see that Pepper appeared to like Onheil as well. He always had this nagging feeling that Tony's wonderful lady should have final approval on things like that--like bringing home a first girlfriend to your mother. He wished Natasha would warm up to her as well. Onheil took the mask and placed it back down on the picnic table Steve had been standing near, she still had to put the rest of her gear on. She'd come out of the locker room carrying her chest protector and ammo belt. Steve had to smile to see the padded pants tucked into the tops of her boots. He helped her into the chest protector and helped get the belt clicked on in a position that wouldn't hinder her movement. She stuck her hands into the empty slots for the bottles of paintballs. "What is this for?" He explained that she would get extra ammunition to refill her hopper in the field with. She drew her brows together in confusion. The referee that was waiting for them all to get ready would be able to explain it better.

Steve paid more attention to Onheil than to the ref explaining the rules of the field. It was all basic. No removing your mask beyond this point. When not on the field, the safety had to be engaged and the sleeve had to be covering the mouth of the marker's barrel. Markers were to be pointed only at the ground and fingers were to be kept away from triggers unless on the playing field during play. No shooting a living target from within eight feet--just call surrender and the person would be taken out of play. The game was last-man-standing rather than capture the flag. They'd be playing in a converted area of the woods. If a bear came along, do not shoot. Move quickly and quietly to the designated safe area and let the employees handle the situation. Anyone who violated the rules would be ejected from the game permanently, no warnings. Steve watched as she mimicked the ref’s movements while he explained the mechanics of shooting and ran her hands over the marker that had been assigned to her. Ammunition was loaded into everyone's hopper and they were each issued four extra canisters, each in their own colors. They'd already split themselves into teams. Colored armbands were handed out and tied on. Masks were fastened into place. The players were led out onto the field.

Steve stepped to the middle of their fort when they reached it, but surprisingly, Pepper began to talk before he could get a word out. "So, they've got a serious disadvantage with Bruce and Fitz-Simmons. Bruce will be cautious because he doesn't want to...you know. And Fitz-Simmons is just inexperienced. Sorry, Phil." He shook his head no offence had been taken. "But they've got SHEILD's two best assassins and Rhodey. We all know Natasha will stay low and Clint will look for a sniper nest. I've got no idea what Rhodey's strategy will be." She looked to Tony, who shrugged in response. "I think our best bet is to take the brains out first and then go for the muscle." Tony had a gleeful look in his eye.

"You're so sexy when you talk battle strategy, Sergeant Pepper." She rolled her eyes and asked Steve's opinion on where best to utilize their own players.

Soon enough, the ref was blowing his whistle and the game was on. Steve could hear shots from other fields ringing out around him at the same time.

***

The mask was hot. It kept fogging up and Loki could hardly see what she was doing. Tony had proven to be a liability, just as Pepper had predicted. He'd rushed forward through the trees and shot blindly. It was by pure luck that he'd managed to take out Agent Fitz before a red splat appeared in the center of his chest protector and the top of Natasha's head disappeared into the brush again.

Loki watched as Agent Hill shot at the man called Rhodey, a pink splat taking him out of play. Phil, Son of Coul was nearby. Loki had been nearly positive that the man would have recognized her. She was on edge from the moment it was decided that he would be on her team. He seemed not to register any recognition, though, so she relaxed minutely. She had to admit, she'd been slightly surprised to see him at the benefit. Steve spoke of him often, but she hadn't believed him alive until she'd seen it with her own eyes. She found herself glad that he was. The man was brave, and not blindly so. His heart was true. He'd faced her fearlessly. He reminded her, somewhat, of Frigga. Especially in the way that he seemed to dote over his fellow agents like a parent would over a child. Coulson was waving at her frantically. She couldn't see what exactly he was trying to draw her attention to until it was almost too late. Natasha had crept into their territory and was gaining ground steadily. Loki turned and slid down over the ridge, her body throwing up dust and the jagged rocks and roots scraping over her flesh through the padded garments. She turned, braced her elbow against the ground and shot. A bright green splat appeared on the back of Natasha's thigh just as Coulson shouted, "Surrender!" Natasha stalked off the field and ripped her mask off in displeasure when she reached the safe area.

"Nice shot." Steve's voice was muffled from the mask over his face. He was crouched down in the area she'd slid into, taking aim at a figure darting from the cover of one tree to another on the other side of the field. Banner left the field. 

Coulson was taken out by a purple splat shortly thereafter. Pepper and Agent Simmons followed him.

Steve edged closer to her. He looked over his shoulder to make sure that a referee wasn't watching before he pulled his mask away from his face to adjust it and allow the fog around the edges to disappear.

"One red player left! Three yellow!"

"Clearly it's just Clint over there. I can't figure out where he is though. My guess is he climbed a tree. I haven't seen any movement on the ground in a while."

"Tony had the right idea."

"What?"

"You're terribly attractive when you're talking battle strategy." Steve's face turned even redder than it already was from the heat inside the mask. They watched as Agent Hill left the field, several purple splatters over her shoulder and flank.

"I have an idea." Steve asked her what it was. "It doesn't count if the paint hits your marker and not your body, right?" He nodded. Loki crouched down farther against the ground and held her weapon up so that the hopper stuck out above the brush they were hiding in. A shot rang out against the plastic and threatened to upset the hopper from the rest of the weapon. It popped open and a few of her paintballs spilled out, bouncing off the shield over her face.

"Doesn't count!" the ref yelled. "Two yellow! One red!"

Loki pulled her arms down slowly, careful not to change the angle of her hands. She looked at where the purple paint was smeared over her hopper and compared it to the playing field. She pointed in the direction she thought it came from, "There."

"You're brilliant." Steve leaned in as if to kiss her and their masks clashed together. He laughed. "But how are we going to get him? I don't think he'll give up cover." With the quietness of their own field, the shots ringing out from the others seemed louder and more frantic. Loki mulled over the predicament for a moment. "He only knows for sure there's one of us over here, right?" Steve nodded. "Care to sacrifice yourself?" He seemed to get her meaning. "Just start shooting in his direction. He'll be focused on you and I'll try to take the shot." She frowned. "Or is that foolish?" Steve shook his head. He thought it was a decent plan. He waited for her to ready herself and pointed toward a tree several yards across the no-man's-land between the two sides of the field. Loki could see the flash of red where Clint was wearing his armband.

"Ready?" She nodded. "On three." Steve counted off and popped up from his covered position. He sprayed the trees in Clint's direction with blue paint until several purple marks appeared across his torso. Loki squeezed the trigger on her marker and fired. All she needed was one good shot.

"Hey!" Clint dropped out of the tree he'd been sniping from. "That's  _cheating_! I shot you first!"

Steve put up his hands in surrender, "It wasn't me."

"Then who the hell was it?" Clint finally looked down at his sleeve and noticed the color of the paint that had hit him. It was bright green. Loki stood up beside Steve and grinned. "No fucking way! There is no way that girl hit me. She's never even held a gun before! This is bullshit!"

"I hit you fair and square, Agent Barton. You lose."

"Fuck no!"

 ***

Steve couldn't hear what Onheil and Clint were shouting about over the ringing in his ears. There was gunfire on the other fields. It was rapid, like either several people were shooting at once or someone had brought one of those expensive markers that fired continuously. Someone was shouting in the distance.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. _No._ This couldn't happen now. Not now. _Please, not now._ He was having such a good time. He could feel his grip tighten on his marker. The sound of paintballs being fired became the sound of Tesseract-powered weapons and machine guns. He could swear he felt an explosion jar his teeth. The ringing in his ears kept getting louder.

"Steve! Steve!"

***

When Steve finally opened his eyes, he stumbled backward, clearly horrified. The muzzle of his marker was pressed to Loki's stomach, his finger hovering over the trigger. She shoved her own at Barton, who was trying to ward the referee off, and sank to her knees beside the Captain. "Steve!" He blinked rapidly and visibly shook himself. "I have to get off the field." His voice was too calm. "Now."

Loki nodded and followed him to the safe area. He shoved his marker at the ref and pulled his mask off, running his hands roughly through his sweaty hair. "Steven? Captain darling?" She sat beside him and removed his hands from his hair, holding them down in his lap in her own hands. Pepper approached with a bottle of water. Steve extended a trembling hand to take it from her. He took a long drink and then poured the rest of it down the back of his neck. His face and neck were bright red. "I can't...I can't play anymore. I can't. I'm sorry. I just..."

Loki kissed him to quiet him. "It's fine. I'll sit out with you."

He looked at her hard, his eyes full of anger, "No. You play."

Loki pulled back, "Okay. I'll play."

Bruce approached, "Why don't we go down to the target range? I don't think I can handle this myself. Too agitating." He rolled his shoulders and neck. Steve nodded. He sat for a few moments and the normal color began to return to his face. He finished another bottle of water and his color returned to normal, but his leg kept bouncing up and down with nervous energy. Before the next round of play began it was decided that Clint wasn't allowed to climb any trees. Banner and Steve put their masks back on and collected their markers before heading off in the direction of the target range.

Loki's stomach was in knots.

***

Steve popped off round after round. Eventually, his hopper was empty. The targets in front of him were covered in blue. He'd had to do it. They'd all been Red Scull's face. Every tennis ball hanging by a string. Every trash can cover. Every rock. Every frying pan nailed to the tree. The tension wouldn't leave his shoulders. His jaw wouldn't unclench. Mercifully, Bruce didn't press him to talk.

They headed back down to the main building and turned their markers and air tanks back in. Steve took his ammo belt off and handed it to the man behind the counter, "Give the rest of it to a kid." There were still two full bottles of paintballs in the belt. He stripped off his chest protector and handed it and the mask over as well. Bruce handed his gear back in and they went to sit at the picnic tables to wait for the rest of the group.

***

They went through two more rounds of play before their time on the field was up. They all turned in their markers and protective gear and changed back into their own clothing before loading back onto the tour bus to head back to the house in the mountains.

Steve sat stiffly next to Loki. His hand was gripping hers so tightly that both their knuckles were white. Loki couldn't feel her fingers. She stroked the side of his face with her free hand and he flinched away. She frowned, "Are you okay?" His eyes slid toward her and then looked straight ahead out the window opposite them again.

The group tumbled off the bus, happy and sore and discussing who wanted what for their late-lunch-slash-early-dinner. Steve walked slowly down the steps of the bus and up to the house. Banner kept looking back at them, concern on his face. Steve's grip on Loki's hand was unrelenting.

Steve led her through the house, breezing past the others. "Bow chicka wow wow!" Tony called out as they went by.

Steve stopped on the stairs and let go of Loki's hand, pushing her roughly against the wall. "Steve, what are you doing? What's wrong?" His hands were gripping her upper arms, holding her in place. "Steve, talk to me." He pressed his lips to hers, forcing them apart and practically shoving his tongue into her mouth. He'd neglected to shave that morning; the stubble on his face gave him a dangerous look and scratched across her skin. Loki didn't know whether to be turned on or afraid. She'd never seen Steve this way before. She didn't know what to do.

"You have a room!" Loki wasn't sure who was calling up the stairs. She thought it was Stark. When Steve pulled his lips away from hers, panting, she had half a mind to call out for help. He pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs and half dragged her down the hall to the room with the paper shield on the door, nearly slamming it shut behind him.

"Steve, as attractive as this aggression is, I think you need to take a breath and tell me what's wrong." Loki bounced when she landed hard on the bed. Steve moved over her and attacked that spot on her throat. Her resolve melted. Whatever his issue was, as long as he kept doing that, he could pour it all into her. She could handle his darkness. It fit well with her own. "No marks!" He practically growled in response and sucked her skin harder, intentionally attempting to create a contusion on her neck. She couldn't help but cry out in both pleasure and frustration.

Steve was clawing at her sweater. She let him pull it up over her head and he threw it to the side before attacking her chest with the same fervor he'd attacked her neck. He sat up for a moment and pulled his hoodie and tee shirt off, casting them away as well. Loki grabbed at her skirt, cursing its close fit and trying to yank it upward over her hips. Steve's hands pushed hers away and succeeded where she hadn't. His fingers grabbed at her thighs and hips with bruising force and yanked her underwear downward. He growled in frustration when it got caught first around the leg warmers covering her shins and then the tops of her boots. He gripped one leg-hole and ripped it open.

A shiver ran up Loki's spine at the sound of the fabric tearing.

Four hands grappled with the buckle of Steve's belt and with the fly of his jeans. The jeans went down roughly over his hips before he dove forward against Loki. He captured her mouth and took her breath away, pushing roughly into her and thrusting with force that made her body move.

***

Steve's ears wouldn't stop ringing. At least the sound wasn't as deafening. Onheil kept stroking his face and talking to him. He couldn't move his jaw to make himself answer. Everyone around them was happy and chattering. It was annoying the living daylights out of him. How could they all be so cheerful when it was clear that he wasn't okay? Why couldn't they all just be quiet?

He pulled Onheil up the stairs. She kept talking. He put her against the wall and put her mouth to better use. He felt the tension in her body and he didn't care. She'd stopped talking. He pulled her the rest of the way to their room and shoved her toward the bed. She was telling him they needed to talk. He didn't want to talk. He wanted release. He wanted her to just shut up. She was scolding him again, warning him against leaving a hickey on her neck. _Fuck that._ He'd mark her if he damned well pleased. The sound she made when he sucked harder certainly didn't seem like she had a problem with it.

He pulled her sweater off and then his own tops. She was struggling with her skirt. What was that? Tartan? Why did he care what the pattern was called? It was green and blue and yellow and infuriating. He pushed it the rest of the way up and went to pull her panties off. Why was she wearing these stupid things on her legs? Why hadn't she just worn pants? Nothing about her was ever logical. It was like she was trying to make this difficult. He finally just ripped them off of her.

She needed to get her damned hands out of the way. He could get his own pants off,  _thankyouverymuch._  He was so hard. It was practically painful. He just wanted to move. He wanted to move with her. In her. He wanted her squirming under him and screaming his name and drowning out the ringing in his ears.

She was clinging to him, trying to move against him and just making his own rhythm more difficult to maintain.  _"Stop."_  He spoke close to her ear before catching it in his mouth. She stilled. He moved his hips, pressing into her, listening to the faint slap of skin against skin and gripping a thigh in one hand and bracing himself against the bed with the other. Her boots were pressing into his ass. It hurt and he didn't care. He was too focused on the breathless grunts and moans coming out of her.

***

Steve was grunting with each forward thrust. He kept pounding harder and faster. All Loki could do was hold on. Steve made the most animalistic sound she'd heard yet and his body shook. His face was pressed hard into her bosom. His body was tight as a bowstring. "Steve?" She whispered, "You're hurting me." His grip on her thigh felt like he was going to rip a chunk of her flesh off. His hands loosened and his body relaxed. She lowered her legs and allowed him to pull out of her.

He stood stiffly and pulled his boxers and jeans back up, buckled his belt again. He sat down heavily and put his head in his hands. Loki pulled her skirt back down over her legs and moved to the edge of the bed beside him. She pressed a kiss to his temple and kneaded his shoulder. "Can we talk now?" He shrugged her off. "No."

Loki could feel hurt and rage bubbling up from her stomach. She’d given him what she thought he’d wanted, what he’d needed. Her eyes burned and her vision blurred. She stood and found her sweater on the floor, tugging it back over her head. She dumped her bag out onto the floor and took a new pair of panties out. She let out a frustrated sound and pulled the laces almost completely out of her boots to get them off. She pulled the ruined pair of panties off of her ankle and wadded them up into a ball before chucking them at Steve with all of the force she could muster. She moved to the door and opened it, slamming it behind herself.

The first two bathrooms she tried were occupied, both showers on. Everyone had come home sweaty and sticky. A few had paint dried on skin and in hair. The third bathroom was empty. She locked the door behind herself and sank to the floor, letting the hot tears that had been welling in her eyes roll down her cheeks. When she won the internal battle for self-control her got back to her feet and pulled the un-ruined underwear on and smoothed out her clothes. She adjusted the leg warmers back over her shins and looked at herself hard in the mirror. She ran the cold water and washed her face. She used a washcloth to get the red paint off of her neck and out of one of her ears. She took her hair out of its ponytail and raked her fingers through it before pulling it over her shoulder and weaving it into a braid in attempt to hide the ugly mark on her neck. When she felt as composed as she was going to be, she left the bathroom.

Pepper and Natasha were standing in the kitchen, talking and laughing. "Yeah, she's a pretty good shot. I was surprised. I thought Clint was going to win that round." Loki was surprised to hear the positive sentiments come from Natasha's mouth.

Pepper was working a fork through the bright green flesh of an avocado in a bowl. Natasha was methodically cutting a red onion into minuscule pieces. Loki moved beside Pepper silently and began to cut the next avocado out of its skin.

 Pepper and Natasha's conversation ceased. "Onheil, is that from a paintball?" Pepper touched the bruise on her neck gently. Loki shook her head. "Steve was a little...over-enthusiastic. It’s only a love bite."

"Onheil, is everything okay?" Loki nodded. Everything was fine. Steve had been riled up, that was all. Everything was fine. She was fine. He was fine. She would go put something with a higher collar on so that everyone wouldn't be concerned. "Onheil, Steve is family, but if he hurt you--"

"No. He didn't hurt me. I'm fine. I promise you." She forced a bright smile and then turned back to the avocado in her hands. He really hadn't hurt her all that much, physically. It wasn't anything more than any other round of rough sex she'd ever had.

"If you want to talk..."

"No, thank you. You're very kind." Natasha was side-eyeing her suspiciously.

Loki froze at the sound of heavy footsteps on the tile floor. She hoped the trembling in her hands wasn't too obvious when Steve slipped his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead to the back of her shoulder.

"I'm _so_ sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say, "Hope you enjoyed the chapter!" but I don't feel like that's appropriate here.
> 
> The link Loki texts to Steve is the lyric video of "Hey, Brother" by Avicii. She's swift enough not to send him the ACTUAL video, which would no doubt have upset him.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the wonderful feedback!


	40. Better be Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day one continued and night two of the weekend in the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I'm aware that the chapter repeats. Thank you, to those that have pointed it out. I don't know what happened, I think something may be up with the "paste from Word" function. I didn't notice the repeat before I hit post. I will have the error corrected as soon as I can. Until then, you might want to refrain from reading this chapter. I'll post an edit here when it's fixed. I can't reasonably do that from my phone.
> 
> EDIT: I've fixed the issue. It seems that even after I'd removed the unedited text of the earlier version of the chapter, it was still retained in the post. Everything should be okay now for those who either have no read yet or would like to read it over.

“Please, don’t,” Loki whispered. Pepper and Natasha were awkwardly continuing to prepare ingredients for guacamole beside her.

“I’m sorry, Onheil. I…I don’t know what’s going on with me. My head isn’t right. I’m sorry.”

“Captain, please. Not right now _. Please_.” She felt Steve’s head lift from her shoulder. His hands hesitated and then he removed his arms from her waist.

“I’m sorry.” Loki listened to him walk away. The sliding door in the dining room that led out onto the deck that ran the length of the house outside closed just a little too hard. She tried to keep her composure. All she wanted to do was disappear, go home. She wished she’d saved more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to stay in Brooklyn.

“Damn onions.” Natasha was shaking her head. Loki put the avocado and the knife down, glad for the break in the deafening silence. She rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath before resuming the task she’d taken up.

***

Coulson raised his brow so high it practically met his receding hairline. “What did you do?” Steve ignored him and continued to grip the railing.

He’d sat on the edge of the bed until he heard Onheil’s characteristic tread pass in the hall and move back down the stairs. He took an extra dose of his anxiety meds, hating himself for it. Hating himself for needing it. Hating himself for what he’d just done. The ringing in his ears had stopped. She hadn’t  _stopped_  him, but she hadn’t exactly said  _yes_ , either. He’d just taken complete advantage of her to satisfy his own needs. He’d taken his anger out on her. She didn’t deserve it. His anger was with himself. With his head. For continuing to relive the horrors of war and ruining the day. Rather than dealing with it like an adult, rather than calling Dr. Cooper and letting himself be talked down off the ledge, he’d poured all of his darkness into her. Pounded it into her flesh. She’d taken it. All of it. Without complaint.

He’d done exactly what she’d told him her family had done to her. He’d brought whatever she was running from right back to her, right into their bed.

He was a monster. He couldn’t blame her when she rejected him in the kitchen. He was surprised she’d been standing there helping Pepper and Natasha to prepare dinner rather than finding the first available ride home.

Coulson leaned on the railing beside him. It was so odd to see the agent in plain clothes. Steve had imagined he even slept in a suit. “Steve, what happened? Natasha’s in there trying to be comforting and it’s kinda freakin’ me out.”

Steve sighed, “I screwed up, Phil.”

“I can tell. You certainly dragged her upstairs quickly. Have an argument?”

“I…I took  _advantage_  of her.” Steve couldn’t look at Coulson.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?” His voice cracked.

“Are you,” Coulson cleared his throat, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Steve could feel the tears brimming and spilling out over his cheeks. “I think so.”

“Oh, Cap.” Coulson edged slightly away. “I think you need help. Both of you.”

“Please don’t tell anyone, Phil. I just…I just need to talk to her.”

“Are you sure she’s going to  _want_ to talk to you?”

“I don’t know. But I need to.”

“Steve, I don’t think this is about what you need. I think you just gave up all rights to what you need.”

Steve couldn’t find words to answer. “Quite frankly, my inclination is to go in there and get her what she needs.” He started to walk away. “You better pray she doesn’t want to file a police report. Just breaking up with you would be merciful of her.” He barked out a mirthless laugh, “Isn’t this the girl you brought home after she got drugged at a bar?” He paused in the doorway, “This isn’t something you can fix by going on TV and kissing some babies. This isn’t just a PR issue.”

“I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I hope you at least used a rubber, Steve.”

Steve’s body shook with the sob that tore through him. He hadn’t been thinking, just doing.

“You’re a jackass.”

***

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Natasha’s arms were crossed. She was studying Loki closely. “I’m fine. Everything is fine. I don’t want to discuss it any further.”

Natasha frowned, “Cap doesn’t act like that when everything is fine.” She watched Loki as she moved across the room to retrieve the plastic wrap to put over the mashed up avocado to keep it from getting brown. Pepper had gone down to the fridge in the basement to get meat for Tony and Rhodes to put on the grill. “He acts like that when he’s had an episode. I would know. Spent a week with him during one. Week before he got together with you.”

“Are you blaming me for his behavior?”

“No. I’m not. But I can’t really blame him for anything if you won’t say what happened.” Loki clenched her jaw to bite back the venom she wanted to spew at the spider. “What happened is between Steve and I.” Agent Coulson came in through the sliding door that Steve had gone out of. “Miss Ferguson, may I speak to you?” This was it. He’d finally put two and two together and it summed up to Loki. He was too serious. This was it. “Of course, Agent Coulson.” He put a firm hand around her bicep. Natasha raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow when Loki winced and allowed herself to be led away into the living room.

“Agent Coulson, what do you need to speak to me about?”

“Please, Phil.” Loki nodded. “Miss Ferguson, what just happened between you and Captain Rogers?” Loki gulped hard. Maybe this wasn’t it. Maybe this was just SHIELD demanding that she and Steve end their relationship. It was too volatile. It put him in too much of a compromised position. She could deal with that. She could deal with it as long as they didn’t send her home or lock her up. She looked at her hands and refused to meet Coulson’s eye. “Onheil.” He put his hand gently over hers. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m not interrogating you. I just want to understand what happened. Cap is a mess out there and he’s saying some pretty…concerning things.” Loki shifted her eyes to the side and away from the warm hand over hers. “I just want to talk.”

“That’s all I wanted to do as well. It wasn’t what Steve had in mind.”

“Did Captain Rogers make you do something you didn’t want to?”

Loki could feel tears stinging her eyes again and hated herself for it. She could not remember crying as much as she had over the course of her relationship with the Captain since she was a child. She learned to wear an iron mask and had welded it more securely to her face with every lash of a whip, hit of a cane, every denial, every accusation, every stitch and pull of thread through her lips, every hour of silence and hunger. “No. He did not.”

“He certainly thinks he did.”

“He did not force me. I was compliant.”

“Compliant doesn’t mean consenting.”

“Then no, I did not consent.” She raised her eyes to meet Coulson’s. He was so kind. She hadn’t realized that about him. Courageous, stubborn, even doting—those she had noticed. Kindness was such a rare trait. It made him shine. She felt exposed under his gaze as he took all of her in. She was glad that her sleeve covered her arms and that her skirt was long enough to keep her thighs from showing. She pulled at the collar of her sweater, trying to force the wide neck to cover the bruise. She smoothed her braid over it instead. “Please, do not mention it to anyone else.” Coulson frowned. “He…he was not himself. I’ve never seen him that way before.” She glanced around to make sure no one else was listening and lowered her voice anyway to make sure. “He’s started a new prescription for his…condition. He’s been drowsy. He fell asleep at work. I think it may be making him irritable as well. I…I’m sure what happened on the playing field…” She pulled her hands away from Coulson’s. “I’m sure that playing a war game triggered something. That wasn’t the best environment.”

“If playing a game where no one gets hurt beyond a bruise here and there can do that to him, then he certainly shouldn’t be in the field on a mission either.”

Loki shook her head, “No! That’s not what I mean. I…I think perhaps my argument with Agent Barton exacerbated his agitation. He was fine one minute. Then the game ended. It was my fault. I didn’t leave him alone about it.”

“Onheil, it’s not your fault.” He furrowed his brow and looked at her hard. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He did.” He rubbed his forehead and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt. “Would you like me to call someone for you?”

“I don’t have anyone.”

“Would you like me to arrange a ride for you? Home, or a hospital…” He gulped and looked her directly in the eye, “Do you want to file a report?”

Loki cocked her head, confused for a moment. “No! No! I do not want to speak to the authorities. It was a misunderstanding. Please. Don’t do anything like that. I…” She tugged at her braid. Her knee bounced nervously. “I will stay. Leaving will only make things worse.” She looked away from Coulson, She could have sworn she heard someone approaching. “I do not want to draw further attention. This is his team. His family. He needs them.”

“I don’t think he realizes how lucky he is to have you.” Loki offered a weak smile. Would he have the same opinion if he knew who she was? He started to rise and hesitated. “If you change your mind…please don’t hesitate to come to me.”

“Thank you, Agent Co—“ He put a hand up, “Phil.”

***

Steve was sitting down, leaning up against the side of the house, staring blindly into the woods. Not only had he forced himself on Onheil, he hadn’t used protection. What was it that women today did? Took a pill. Took a pill that prevented pregnancy. Please, let her be on the pill. Please. Steve didn’t think she’d want to carry his child in this circumstance, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her…getting rid of it. She had to be on the pill, right? After the first time… The first time had been so incredibly wonderful and he’d completely messed everything up. Destroyed it. After the first time they had sex she told him not to worry, that nothing would happen. That was it. She was taking contraceptives. So the situation was bad, but not as bad as it could be.

“You just dodged the biggest bullet of your life, Rogers.” Natasha was standing over him, her arms crossed. “Onheil is in there with Phil. He’s trying to get her to go to the police.” She sank down next to him. “Let me get this straight: You dragged her up the stairs to fuck her. Against her will.”

Steve felt like he was going to puke. “I…I…no. I wanted to…fuck,” the last word came out as a whisper. “But I didn’t mean to force her. I just…my head. My ears wouldn’t stop ringing. And the bullets. And the explosions. And the yelling. And I…” He drew in a ragged breath. “I didn’t mean to force her. _I wasn’t thinking._ I wasn’t thinking.”

“Steve. You’re hyperventilating. You need to calm down. Having an episode right now isn’t going to help.” Steve slid down and put his head in Natasha’s lap. She tensed then began to stroke his hair. “You need to fix this. You need to make it right. You need to clear your ledger.” Steve was just glad she didn’t seem as disgusted with him as he was with himself. “You have ten minutes before Pepper is going to call Tony and Rhodes back up from the game room to stark cooking. Put yourself together.”

“She’s not going to want to talk to me.”

“Give her space.”

“She hates me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I hate me.”

“I would too, if I were you.” If he could rely on Natasha for one thing, it was complete honesty.

“You don’t like her.”

“I never said that. I said something wasn’t right. Never said I didn’t like her. She’s…interesting.”

“I love her, Nat.”

“You’ve got a strange way of showing it.” She thumped his back firmly. “C’mon. Up. Do you want me to get Cooper on the phone?” Steve shook his head. He was okay. He felt weirdly calm. The meds may have started to kick in. “Alright. Go take a shower then. You stink like paint and sweat.” And shame.

Steve didn’t see Onheil in the house as he moved through it. When he went into the bedroom, the clothes she’d dumped out on the floor were folded tidily in a stack on the end of the bed, her bag next to it. Maybe this meant she wasn’t going to leave. If she was leaving, her bag would be packed, right? The comforter was smoothed out. He didn’t see the underwear he’d ripped off of her anywhere. Any trace of what had happened in the room earlier had been tucked away from the prying eyes of JARVIS and the other houseguests.

He could only hope that she would be willing to talk, or at least to listen.

“Hey, Dr. Cooper? Can you give me a call when you get a chance? I…I really need to talk to you. I did a really bad thing.”

Steve ended the call and started to pull off his musty clothes, leaving them over a chair before heading off with a towel around his waist to find a free bathroom. Hopefully, a shower would clear the rest of the cobwebs from his head and he could figure out what to say to Onheil when he found her.

***

Cap’s girlfriend was infuriating. Clint couldn’t get a handle on her. All he knew was that when she was around, the noise in his head was quieter. It felt like his neurons were waiting for something, waiting for instruction. She was argumentative. She talked in circles and managed to make people come around to agreeing with her. She had this way of looking up through her eyelashes and grinning that made her look innocent and wicked at the same time. She was quick. She was witty. She was smart. She could hold her own against Tony and Rhodes. Clint was pretty sure Cap had ordered an android off the Internet.

She’d come down the stairs with a wet ponytail swinging behind her and an irritatingly green hoodie zipped all the way up. He was pretty sure she was wearing Cap’s sweatpants—they looked an awful lot like the ones Cap wore when he was in the gym—tucked into those awful boots. What girl wore boots like that? She was circling the grill that Tony and Rhodes were standing over. He was pretty sure she was trying to tell them how to cook. What did she know about steak? Nothing, he bet.

***

Loki couldn’t stand to watch it any longer. “Tony, if you poke that meat one more time, I’m going to poke _you_.”

“She speaks!” It was the first time she’d actually addressed Stark since his phone call the day after the benefit dinner.

“Stop poking it. You’re going to let all of the juice out. And then we might as well serve everyone a slice of my boot for dinner.” The man everyone called Rhodey was chuckling as he watched them argue. “Just leave it alone.”

“Tony, the girl has a point.” Stark glared at his friend and jabbed the air in front of him with the implement he’d been poking at the grill with. “She’s not _always_ right.”

“No, just most of the time, apparently.”

“No, Mr. Rhodes, I _am_ always right.” She shrugged, “At least when I am talking to Tony.” Rhodes full out laughed.

“Now I see what you meant, Stark, when you told me about her talking circles around you. Never thought I’d actually meet someone other than Pepper who could put you in your place.” He turned to Loki, “Sweetheart, when he told me about how you told him off after he’d said the scholarship foundation was about leaving _his_ mark—“

“When was this?” Pepper’s brow was drawn together in confusion. Tony turned white as a sheet.

“He came to my apartment the morning after your party. He was angry about Steve and I being front page news. He’d only gotten six lines in the article. It wasn’t as if I was pleased about it either, but he was out of line.” Loki returned to her seat and picked her bottle of beer back up. She pulled her feet onto the edge of the chair, knees drawn to her chest.

“What?” Pepper turned toward Tony, who was finally leaving the steaks alone. Steve was standing in the doorway, clean clothes on, looking freshly showered. Loki tensed when he hesitated near the empty seat beside her and then chose to sit on the other side of the table beside Barton, who gave him a perplexed look. “Tony, what is she talking about?”

“What did I miss?” Steve leaned toward the hawk and spoke quietly. “I think your girlfriend just put Stark in the dog house.” Steve glanced toward Loki and said nothing.

Dinner was awkward, for Loki, at least. Steve kept looking at her. Whenever he looked at her, Barton looked at her. Whenever Barton looked, Romanov looked. It was a vicious cycle. Steve stepped up beside her when she came around the table to assist Pepper in clearing it. “Can we talk? Please?”

“ _Now_ , you want to talk? I think it’s a little bit late for that, Captain.”

“Oooh, she called him ‘Captain’ and didn’t finish with ‘darling!’ I think she’s mad.” Tony smirked and tipped his bottle into his mouth. Pepper smacked the top of his head as she walked by.

Steve followed her into the house. “Please, Onheil. I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t know how else to show you.” She took the dishes from him and loaded them into the dishwasher. When she closed the door and stood back up, he enveloped her in his arms. “Please.” Loki did not return the embrace.

“There’s no way she hit me. It had to be Steve.”

“The paint was green, Barton, not blue. It was Onheil.”

“Nope. He had a green one in his hopper then.”

“Clint, this is getting pathetic.”

Loki extricated herself from Steve’s arms and went back out onto the deck. “Agent Barton, you’re a sore loser.”

“Am not!”

“You should see me with a bow.” Barton’s face turned completely red.

“Is that a challenge?”

“I think so.”

Clint pushed past her and went back into the house. He returned several minutes later with a bow and a quiver of arrows. He grabbed a barbecue fork and a placemat on his way past the table. He took Loki by the wrist and stalked down off the deck and into the tree line.

“Hey! _Hey!_ I don’t have permits for you to be doing that here! If you hit a deer or a bear or something I’m going to have to pay out the wazoo!”

“Well then, she’d better be a good shot.” He held the placemat up to the tree at eye level and stabbed the fork into it near the top to hold it in place.

Clint thrust the bow into Loki’s hands and held out the quiver. She slowly drew an arrow out of it.

“Onheil! Stop!” Steve was jogging toward them.

“Shoot.” Loki narrowed her eyes at Barton and nocked the arrow; drawing her arms into the form she’d practiced for centuries. Into the form she’d guided Hodur’s arms into. She turned her attention to the bright yellow placemat impaled onto the tree trunk and let the arrow fly. It hit dead center. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw Baldr fall. She opened them and Barton was holding another arrow out to her. “Again.” She turned to look at Steve, frozen a yard off, his eyes wide. She shot. The arrow stuck in the tree just to the left of the first. “Again.” The third arrow stuck just to the right of the first. “Again.” Just above. “Again.” Just below. The five arrows formed a neat circle in the center of the placemat. The jovial chatter on the deck that had been carrying out to the tree line quieted.

“Somebody recruit that girl!” Rhodes called out over the property.

***

“Want to see me throw a knife?”

Steve was blinking rapidly; positive he’d just hallucinated. There certainly was more to Onheil than she let on.

The rest of the evening was much less tense. Clint seethed, but everyone else wanted to know where Onheil had learned to shoot an arrow. “I did not have what you would consider a conventional childhood.” She didn’t say much more, revealing only that she’d had private lessons. Upon further pestering she alluded again to throwing knives and swordplay. “Like fencing, right?” Maria’s face was open and curious. Coulson looked like every gear in his head was turning in over drive. Onheil chewed the inside of her cheek before answering in the affirmative. “Can you shoot?” Rhodey was spread out casually over part of the couch, his arm extended behind Tony as if they were a couple, beer bottle in his hand beyond Tony’s shoulder. Onheil asked what he meant. “With a firearm.” No, she did not have experience in that department beyond the markers they’d used earlier that day.

“You know, when I shot Agent Barton in the arm and got him out of the game.” She smirked.

Exhausted and stuffed, much of the group moved to retire early.

***

Coulson approached Loki when she rose to put her bottle into the bin before going up to bed. “Are you sure you want to sleep in there?”

Loki nodded, “Yes, I’m sure. I will be fine.”

“I’m bunking with Fitz. You can have my bed if you don’t mind snoring.”

“Thank you, Phil. You’re very generous, but it is not necessary. I can handle myself.”

Coulson smiled at her, “I suppose you can. Maybe you should take Clint’s kit to bed.” Loki rolled her eyes and headed off toward the room she was sharing with the Captain. “Don’t hesitate, if you need someone.”

***

Steve watched as Onheil took her hoodie off. She was bare beneath. She glanced over her shoulder with her eyes narrowed at him as she pulled her pajama shirt over her head. Steve was mortified by the ugly mark on her neck, in that wonderful spot that made such amazing sounds come out of her and mad her toes curl and her fingers grip his hair and her body tremble. His gut was in knots over the faint purple marks he was fairly certain would fit his fingers on her arms. He walked pulled his own pajamas on and then walked back around the bed to correct the ajar door.

Onheil stood and went to the door when he moved to turn down the comforter, “It stays _open_.” Steve didn’t offer any objection. He sat down on the edge of his side of the bed and turned to face her while she whipped a braid into her hair. “Can we talk?” She ignored him and crawled into bed. She placed herself as far away from him as she could get and still be on the mattress before drawing her knees up and the comforter over her body. “Go to sleep, Steve.”

Steve could feel himself on the verge of frustrated tears. He turned out the light and slipped into bed. He thought better of trying to move close to her. He stayed planted on his side, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the pattern of her breathing. It didn’t even out and deepen. He knew she was awake.

It all started tumbling from his lips. From the moment they stepped onto the playing field and he heard the sounds of other games going on around him to the moment she told him he was hurting her. He told her what he heard. What he felt. He told her about he and Peggy, screwing like their lives depended on it, feeling but not seeing or hearing. He told her about explosions. And bullets. And shouting. And slow, wheezing, bloody death. He told her about being completely without control and wanting to just control even one small thing. He told her about rushing blood and ringing ears and just wanting silence. Wanting release.

“I’m sorry Onheil. I hurt you. I did what I promised myself— _promised you_ —that I wouldn’t. I can’t ever forgive myself for it. I don’t expect you to forgive me for it, either.”

She was silent, but awake.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

Silence.

“I love you.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t leave, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> What's up with Hawkeye? Geeze.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback!


	41. Relatability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend wraps up and the team heads home. Some stunning facts are learned.

Loki did not sleep. She laid there, curled on her side listening to Steve speak into the darkness for the better part of two hours. She could not help the dampness of her pillow, but she would be damned if she allowed him to see how much he was effecting her.

As he spoke, she found that she knew exactly what was going on in his head when he ordered her to continue playing. When he was squeezing her hand so tightly. When he dragged her into the house. When he slammed her against the wall. When he threw her onto the bed. When he took what he needed. When he rejected her immediately afterward. When he came to her in supplication.

It was exactly what had been going on in her own head after she’d finally been freed of the rocks and the snake. She hadn’t taken her rage and her self-hatred out on Sigyn, though. She’d taken it out on herself and every willing serving wench she could get her hands on.

She understood the need to feel in control. The need for silence. The need for release. For months beyond her punishment, she could hear the steady drip of the venom into the bowl. She could feel it dropping against her skin. Sigyn wouldn’t leave her alone. She was constantly cooing and comforting and stroking and touching. She couldn’t comprehend why Loki simply wanted to be left alone. She couldn’t understand the precarious balance of composure and inner turmoil. She couldn’t understand his desire to lash out and his inability to do so. She simply grieved. She did not understand the absolute hurt and betrayal involved. Odin needed someone to place the blame on, to punish. He should have simply punished Loki for Baldr’s death, not Loki’s family.

***

Loki clawed at his skin and pulled at his hair. “What did you do to yourself?” Sigyn was concerned, as ever. Loki let the thin clump of hair fall from his fingers into the water around him. He knew there were angry scratches all over his body. He’d put them there. He knew that was why the water was murky and his skin was burning all the more.

“My skin was crawling. I had to make it stop. It wouldn’t stop.” His skin was bright pink from the too-hot bath water he’d pulled himself out of. He felt like there were bugs beneath his flesh. Like there was something destroying him from the inside out.

He couldn’t pour his hurt and his rage into Sigyn. She didn’t deserve it. Odin did. So, Loki attacked Odin in the only way he knew how: with his guile. He couldn’t attack Odin directly without fear of serious reprisal, so he attacked all of his favorite pleasures, just like Odin had attacked Loki’s own favorite pleasures—his children.

He started with the household staff. He seduced every serving girl Odin had had affairs with. They were all wanton wenches and he made sure everyone knew it. He also made sure everyone knew just how much more pleased they were with himself than with Odin. He wreaked havoc throughout the palace and the grounds. His tricks grew cruel. Anyone who dared allow Loki’s name on his or her lips was met with misfortune. He spooked the ravens and destroyed their roost. He tore apart the stables. He rendered hunting weapons useless. When he grew bored with that, he took Sleipnir and went out into the woods. He stayed out for a week until the palace guard came and dragged him and his son home.

Loki stumbled back to the rooms he shared with his wife, dirty and drunk and feral. “Husband, what have you done? The Aesir begin to think you mad.”

“Let them. I care not. Would that I were a wolf myself to rip them all to shreds.”

“Lopt, _please_ , come back to me. I grieve as you do. I hurt as you do. But you cannot continue—“ He’d grabbed her then, shoved her against the wall, gripping her upper arms with bruising force.   
”Stop, Sig. _Stop_. You _do not_ grieve as I do. You _do not_ hurt as I do.” She wept. He held firm. “I cannot do this anymore.” His grip relaxed and she moved to embrace him, to kiss him. He slapped her.

Sigyn needed someone whole. Someone without so much darkness. To protect her from himself, he left her. To protect his wife from the stares and the whispers and the accusations, he chose to be alone.

He could not stand her looking at him with such pity anymore, so he gave them both freedom to move on.

***

Loki could understand exactly how Steve felt. She could not understand how he could take it out on someone he professed to love. She eased into a restless sleep in the wee hours of the morning and woke to an empty bed.

“JARVIS?” She pressed the button for the intercom beside the door the way that Tony had shown them all the first night.

“Yes, Miss Ferguson?”

“Can…can you tell me where Steve is?”

“The feed from the security camera indicate Captain Rogers is running laps around the property.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ferguson.”

At least he had turned to the old mainstay of predictability.

Loki dressed and went to find the others. She spent the day carefully avoiding the Captain while Barton spent the day carefully working his way into her path. “What is the matter, Agent Barton?”

“Just…experimenting.”

“With what? How high a level of irritation you can push me to before I lose my composure?”

“No…I…” He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe. I have a theory.”

“What is your theory?”

“That you’re not real.”

“I am very real, Agent Barton.” She pinched him. Hard.

“Ow! No, I mean that you’re a robot. Cap ordered you off the internet.”

“I assure you, I am flesh and blood.”

“I doubt it.”

“Care to test that doubt?” She stepped as close to him as she could without actually touching him. He gulped audibly and moved swiftly away. Agent Hill had been standing nearby, she was trying to cover her snickering with mimed coughs. Pepper didn’t bother to mime.

***

Onheil drifted through the house. Anyone else would probably think that it was purposeless drifting, but Steve knew she was avoiding him. He was glad that at least she appeared to be having a good time with the others.

Onheil drifted down to the TV room where Tony, Rhodey, and Clint were watching a football game. Steve never had much interest in football. It hadn’t really been all that popular in his time. Tony was constantly berating him for being a baseball snob. He knew the basics of the game, but not the nuance. Onheil seemed to have picked it up within the first quarter. By halftime she was shouting at the screen and insulting the referees.

“Didn’t take you for the sporty type. Even after your little Robin Hood demonstration.”

Onheil shrugged, “It like war. Each army is trying to infiltrate the other’s territory while protecting a vital artifact, trying to keep possession of it.” The three men were all staring at her openly. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Tony turned toward where Steve was hovering, “Capsicle, your girlfriend is weird.”

Steve smiled weakly, “Biggest weirdo I know. Best part about her.” Onheil sank down into the couch like she was trying to disappear.

Steve cornered Agent Simmons after lunch. “Can I help you, Captain?”

“Yeah, actually.” Steve explained that he’d like her to continue with her testing.

“Not afraid I’m going to stick needles in your eyes anymore?”

Steve ran his hand through his hair and laughed awkwardly, “Sorry. You’re kind of scary when you get excited. You’re a lot like Tony, actually.”

Simmons smiled, “There has to be some reason you’re going to allow me to use you as a test subject, Captain. My guess, is that lovely young woman talked you into it.”

“Sort of.” He explained that his therapist thought finding out about how his medications were being processed would be beneficial. “I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to be on edge and to be worrying about hurting the people I love because I can’t control it.” Simmons raised a brow suspiciously and became serious.

“I will do what I can, Captain.”

Steve sat beside Onheil at dinner. He didn’t have a choice; all the other seats were taken. Natasha was watching him closely. He was trying to ignore it, but it was making him feel incredibly self-conscious. He tried to touch Onheil. He moved his leg closer to her so that their knees would bump. He extended his fingers toward hers when she placed her hand down on the table. She drew it away every time.

The party moved to the living room as they had the first night, fire roaring in the hearth. Steve had to choke down a laugh. What was it that Thor had said? Loki was flame and light and warmth, the spirit of the hearth. Ember and Ash were born of Flame and Glow.

Someone turned the radio on and it played seamlessly into the room from speakers that no one could see. It was tuned to a classic rock station. The disc jockey was saying something about the most globally influential band of all time. Steve didn’t quite pay attention, his focus fell on the play of flame against brick and the contrast between the warmth the fireplace cast over the room and the coolness of the bottle in his hands.

_Child-like, no one understands. Jack-knife, in your sweaty hands. Some kind of innocence measured out in years. You don’t know what it’s like to listen to your fears._

“Mr. Stark, there is an important communication coming through. Shall I direct it to your phone or the Stark Pad?”

“The pad, Jarve, thanks.” Tony left the room to retrieve his high-tech tablet.

_You can talk to me. You can talk to me._

Everyone was chattering contentedly. No one seemed to notice the funk he was in. He’d chosen to not take his medication that morning. He didn’t feel great, but he didn’t feel horrible. His head felt clearer. He wasn’t as drowsy. He wasn’t as edgy.

_Big man—yeah—walking in the park. Whigwam, frightened of the dark. Some kind of solitude is measured out in you. You think you know me but you haven’t got a clue._

“Director, with all due respect, none of us are on the clock. Can you just say what you’ve gotta say and get it done and over with?”

“It’s not what I’ve got to say, Stark, it’s what Asgard’s got to say. Is everyone there?”

“Yeah.”

“How about you all gather round and I patch in the call from New Mexico?”

“Steve. _Steeeeve._ Cap!”

“What?”

“The Avengers are assembling. Get your star-spangled booty over here.”

Steve moved over to the dining room table and watched as Stark swiped at the screen on the tablet and produced a holographic image large enough for everyone to see. Director Fury’s face looked out unseeingly over the room. “Thor’s made contact with us. He’s visiting Dr. Foster for some time and felt it necessary to update us on some…interesting developments. Not sure how much impact it will actually have, but he’s insisting that he be allowed to speak with all of you.”

Onheil excused herself and moved quickly and quietly up the stairs before Thor’s face replaced Fury’s. “Am I visible, fellow Avengers? Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Thunder Dome.”

“Good. I have defied the Allfather’s command.” There was a bit of a collective gasp. “The Odinsleep continues. He could not tell me no. I ventured to Svartalfheim to bring home Loki’s bones.”

“And?”

“There were none to bring home.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was no body, no trace of him.”

“Are you saying Crazy Pants is alive?”

“Do not insult my brother’s memory.”

“So you’re saying he’s dead…but missing.”

“Yes.”

“How can he be dead but missing?”

“I fear the worst. That he has become a draugr.”

“A druggie? So he’s a lunatic, dead, and is hopped up on something?”

“No. Stop twisting my words, Stark!”

“Sorry. ‘Splain, Lucy.”

Thor shook his head, “I fear my brother has become one of the living dead.”

“But, you thought he was dead before…and he turned out to be alive and amassing an army of almost indestructible aliens.”

“No, he is dead. He died in my arms. I know this. The only possibility is that he now draugr. I fear it is Asgard’s fault. Their dislike of him…their refusal to see him properly sent to the afterlife…they have created this thing.”

“Is there any possibility that he can be a danger to Earth now that he’s a zombie?”

“A what?”

“A zombie. A walker. The undead.”

“I do not know. He will still know himself; he will have his mind. I do not know if he will retain his magic. I have never dealt with one of these…creatures myself before. And certainly not one like Loki.”

Thor said his heavy goodbyes after updating Tony and Bruce on Jane’s progress with getting what wavelength would be needed to communicate by. He would be taking the prototype device back to Asgard shortly with him to test.

“Well, that was certainly one way to wrap up the weekend.”

The mood was much more somber after that. Onheil returned to the living room when everyone had reclaimed his or her seats. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much, Miss Mischief. Just that Thor’s insane baby brother is quite possibly now a brain-craving undead thing.”

“Sounds exciting.”

_There are places I remember all my life, though some have changed. Some forever not for better._

The same block of themed music was still playing on the radio. Onheil was moving back toward her seat on the floor near the fire. Steve stood and stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“You said you wanted to go dancing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I wanted to take my chance before we got back to the city. I didn’t think you’d want to anymore after this weekend.”

_With lovers and friends, I still can recall. Some are dead and some are living. In my life I’ve loved them all._

Natasha was raising her eyebrows at him. Coulson was scowling. Steve took Onheil’s right hand and placed it on his shoulder. He put his arm hesitantly around her waist, his hand barely touching the small of her back, bringing her close to him. He held her left hand close to his chest and moved so that his lips were near her ear.

“There is no one compares with you. And these memories lose their meaning.” He tried to keep his voice low as he swayed side to side with her, moving in a slow circle in front of the fireplace. Her body was tense. He didn’t want to lose her. “I know I’ll often stop and think about them. In my life, I love you more.”

_Though I know I’ll never lose affection for people and things that went before. I know I’ll often stop and think about them. In my life I love you more._

“I love you more.”

She lowered her head to his shoulder for a moment. “Steve. Stop. Please.”

“Just—“

“No.”

Clint cleared his throat loudly, “Does anyone else feel like they’re trapped in a bad chick flick?”

Onheil slept as far away from him as possible once again. In the morning, her bag was packed and waiting at the foot of the bed. She was downstairs helping Pepper prepare breakfast foe everyone before they piled up into the tour bus to head back into Manhattan.

She chatted casually with Fitz-Simmons on the ride home. She asked them about their research and their function on Coulson’s team. She seemed genuinely interested. She glossed over Simmons’ mention that Steve had agreed to her testing.

When they reached the Tower, Onheil declined to go up to the residential floor. “I have a shift this evening, I really should be getting home.” She shifted her backpack on her shoulder uncomfortably, “I had a lovely time, Tony, thank you for inviting me. It was wonderful to meet all of you.”

“If you wait, I’ll take the train home with you.”

“No, Steve, I would really rather go myself.”

“Onheil, please. I’m sorry!”

“Sorry doesn’t really cut it, Captain.” She turned to leave. Steve put his hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Take your hand off of me.”

“Onheil.”

“Captain.”

***

“Sir, I believe there is something you might need to see. My sensors are detecting energy levels uncharacteristic of any normal person I have seen before.”

“What’s up, JARVIS?”

Video feed of Steve and Onheil appeared on the television screen in the living room. They were still near the private elevator bank in the lobby.

_“Take your hand off of me.”_

_“Onheil.”_

_“Captain.”_

“Trouble in paradise. Wonder what they’re fighting about this time?”

_“Take your hand off of me, now.”_

_“No. I need to talk to you. I don’t know what else to say, but I need to talk to you.”_

_“I do not wish to talk to_ you _.”_

The video feed went slightly fuzzy. Onheil whipped her body around, throwing the Captain off balance. Green-gold energy surged from her in his direction, slamming him into the elevator door and denting it slightly. Onheil looked mortified. Steve’s eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head as he looked up at her from the floor. She turned and practically sprinted out into the main lobby and away from the building. Steve started after her, shouting for her to wait. He stopped near the front door, reconsidering his plan of action and running his hands over his chest like he was trying to make sure everything was still there.

“Sir, I think we have found the person from the subway security footage.”

“I think you’re right, Jarve.”

When Steve came up to the residential floor, no one said a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! What's happening?
> 
> Zombies and mutants and demi-gods, oh my!
> 
> The two songs are "Hey, Bulldog" and "In My Life" by the Beatles, respectively.
> 
> As ever, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	42. En Garde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki deals with the aftermath of her confrontation with the Captain.

Loki sprinted for the entrance to the subway. She paused, tucked herself into a corner and tried to disappear. It was no use. She was too worked up. Her magic was becoming volatile from lack of active use. Hiding from Heimdall was a different animal than actually using magic. She’d felt it building all weekend. Her state of mind had always been a driving influence for her sorcery, but never before had she had so little real control over it. Except maybe that day on the subway platform.

She was just glad she had not hurt the Captain.

Loki moved through her day with her nerves completely frayed. She kept waiting for SHIELD agents to swarm the coffee shop or for a small army of warriors from Asgard to break into her apartment. No one came. She relaxed, but did not let her guard down.

Loki turned her focus to other, more pressing matters. There was something seriously wrong with her body. Things just simply did not feel _right_. It took her the better part of the week to track down the herb she would need to correct the situation. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been concerned before. She’d been concerned since Halloween and thought perhaps it was simply the mounting stress since then coupled with the events of what was supposed to have been a relaxing weekend that were making her feel this way. It had simply taken her a while to find a store she could walk into and purchase it from. Clearly, Midgardians did not place the same trust in herbal medicine that it garnered in other realms.

It was handed to her in a plain metal tin, _Tansy_ written in neat block letters on the lid and the tin itself. She was given a lecture about toxic properties and made to sign a waiver before being allowed to leave the store with a sheet of paper that listed all of the various signs of toxicity and instructions on how to use it.

_½ teaspoon per cup of water, 3-4 times daily for up to five days._

After the second day she was crippled with nausea and couldn’t keep even a light meal down. Anything but total darkness hurt her eyes and made her head feel as if Mjolnir was beating her scull open from the inside. She stopped drinking the infusion altogether, terrified that she’d prepared it wrong and was dying by her own hand. She called out of work, apologizing profusely and promising to take whatever extra shifts she was asked to when she returned. By the third day, she was relieved to see she’d begun to bleed. Heavily. At the end of a week she was exhausted, barely able to move around her small living space. She spent her time languishing in bed and using small bits of magic to attempt to speed along whatever process was happening within her and drive herself back toward health. She couldn’t ever remember any of the women in the palace staff being taken out of commission for this long. Although, perhaps they had not waited as long between the event and taking the infusion as she had.

Loki was just happy to be alive. Until there was a firm knock on her door. “Miss Ferguson?” This was it. She was too weak to fight physically. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she passed the open door to the bathroom. She looked like a specter of herself. Perhaps if they saw how weak she was, they would be gentle, at least. Whoever was at the door knocked again, a little more firmly as if to ensure that she heard it. “Just a moment,” she called softly as she wrapped her robe tightly around her body. She took a deep breath and summoned whatever magic wasn’t already otherwise occupied to her fingertips. She unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open until the chain stopped it. She gulped and looked up into Agent Coulson’s openly concerned face.

“Hello, Agent Coulson.”

“Phil.”

“Phil. What brings you here today?” And how did you get into the building? And how do you know where I live? Steve must have told. Steve must have given them the set of keys she’d given to him. She was surprised they didn’t just break her door down. Was it _they_? Or was it just _he_?

“You, do Miss Ferguson.”

“Onheil.”

He smiled, “Onheil. May I come in?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, deciding. She closed the door and removed the chain, then opened it again, cautiously. “What have I done?” She closed the door behind the lone agent. “I have not told anyone about the incident, if that is what you are here about. I do not intend to get the Captain into trouble.”

“No, Onheil, that’s not why I’m here.” She directed him to the couch. She watched him carefully as his eyes swept over the room, taking in the artwork and furnishings and coming to rest over the television where Steve’s framed drawing was still hanging. He finally turned his gaze back to her, “Onheil, are you okay?” She drew her robe more tightly around her body and nodded. “You look like death. Are you sure?” A funny comment from someone who was just informed that an enemy once believed neutralized could be roaming the branches of Yggdrasil as a fierce undead creature. She nodded again. He sighed and furrowed his brow, clearly dissatisfied with her answer. “I’m here because of this…” He pulled his phone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled up a video file. Loki watched the events of that day on the subway platform play out on the small screen.

“What does this have to do with me?” She gave him a confused look and he worked his thumbs over the screen. She watched herself and Steve arguing in front of the elevator. What little color was in her face drained completely. She felt light headed. Her stomach churned. The back of her throat burned. She looked directly at Coulson.

“That’s what it has to do with you.”

“I did not mean to hurt him.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because SHIELD is interested in your…abilities.”

“My abilities have no interest in SHIELD.”

“Miss Ferguson,” Loki noticed that there was a distinct change in Coulson’s demeanor. He seemed to fall into the same patterns of being _Agent Coulson_ and being _Phil_ as Steve did when he was _Captain_ or simply _Steve_. He was maintaining the same eye contact that she was. She wondered if they had entered a competition to see who would be unnerved first. “When SHIELD takes and interest, you don’t really have a choice.” His expression turned down slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“If I leave this apartment, will I be taken into custody?”

Coulson shook his head. “It’s just me. Steve…Captain Rogers informed me of the basics of your situation. I understand your fears. SHIELD just wants to speak with you.”

“So you know that I’m…hiding.”

“Yes, that’s the sum of it.” She nodded and asked if she could have time to shower and dress. “Of course. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

The ride over to SHIELD headquarters was silent and tense. Loki couldn’t help but sneak glances at Coulson as he drove. “Phil? May I ask you something?” She could. “Steve mentioned that during the battle against Loki, everyone believed you dead. He’d stabbed you or something. How is it that you’re here driving a car?” Coulson’s eyes shifted to her briefly and then back to the road. “That’s classified.” Loki nodded and was silent.

Agent Coulson led her through the lobby, breezing past the security checkpoint when the person behind the desk demanded she show credentials. “She’s with me. Stand down.” Loki was led through the building. She was surprised to see the similarity in organization to the Helicarrier they had held her on previously. She wondered for a moment if they had a Hulk-containment cell here too and if she would find herself locked away inside it. It wouldn’t hold her, of course, but the injustice would be all the same.

They moved through the building and down into its bowels. She could hear the sounds of building going on, echoing down the corridors. “What’s that sound?”

“Thor send some people over to build a new containment cell.”

“What?”

“For his zombie brother. In case he finds his way to Earth and we can intercept him before he does any damage. If he really is a zombie, that is.”

“Oh. Steve said the Hulk cell held him?”

“Nah, I think he could have gotten out if he wanted to. Thor sent some kind of magician or something. Said he’d be able to build us a cell like the ones on Asgard.”

“Oh. That’s rather…thorough.” Coulson nodded and continued to lead her through twisting halls and down stairs. He seemed to be trying to confuse her. Finally, he opened the door to an office.

“Miss Ferguson.” Fury was sitting behind his desk, his fingers tented under his chin. “I’ve been itching to meet you for quite some time now.”

“And you are?” Of course Loki knew who it was, Onheil shouldn’t.

“Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD.” He extended a hand toward her and she shook it. “Have a seat.” Coulson pulled one of the chairs in front of the desk out for her and then sat down himself.

“May I ask what exactly your interest in me is?”

“I hear you have a very special skill set.”

“I suppose you may have heard correctly.”

“A regular Robin Hood.”

“I do believe I impressed Agent Barton.”

“Mention of some skill with a blade.”

“Yes.”

“And evidently a sharpshooter on the first try.”

“Beginner’s luck.”

“And then there’s the matter of this strange, colorful energetic force you seem to be able to produce.”

Loki did not answer.

“I suppose you are referring to the incident at Stark Tower between the Captain and I.”

“The Captain? That’s rather impersonal for someone he’s supposed to be shacking up with.”

“Our relationship is none of your business.”

“Every relationship of every one of my agents, especially ones as compromising as yours, is absolutely my business.”

“Then you’ll be satisfied to know that it has come to an end.”

Fury narrowed his eye at her and tented his fingers again. “You’re an interesting one, Miss Ferguson.”

“I certainly try to be.”

“Agent Barton is pretty taken with you. Won’t shut up about you, actually.” Loki raised a brow. “Natasha doesn’t seem to have an opinion one way or another, but she certainly doesn’t seem opposed to the idea.”

“What idea?”

He ignored her and kept going, “And Coulson here seems to think you may be an asset.”

“An asset to whom?”

“To SHIELD.”

“And if I do not wish to be an asset to SHIELD?”

“Then you may need to be contained.”

“Contained?”

He pulled a filed folder toward himself and opened it, drawing out still photos of the subway video and Stark’s security feed. “Looks like you don’t have much control over this.”

“No.” She wasn’t lying. In the two instances pictured, she didn’t have control.

“I’m thinking that may be a liability.”

Coulson finally spoke, “Will all due respect, Director, I believe Captain Rogers provoked her.”

Fury turned a heavy gaze on the agent, as if asking what the rest of the story was. “I’ve seen the video, Agent Coulson.” He turned back to Loki, “Didn't seem like you were provoked here, though.” He tapped the subway photo.

“Unpleasant childhood memories.” He made a sound like he was ruminating over what her response was, deciding if it was sufficient. “Director Fury, I really don’t know what exactly you want from me.” She started to stand. “I have to work this evening,” she glanced at the clock on the wall behind her, “and I fear that if I do not leave now, I will be late.”

“Sit down, Miss Ferguson.” Loki did not. “Your employer has already been informed that you will not be working this evening.”

“I do believe, Director, that you’re out of line. You cannot meddle in the lives of private citizens.”

“I believe someone living under a false identity should be more careful who she irritates.” Loki sat. “Look at that, much better.” He leaned down and retrieved a stack of papers from his desk drawer and handed them over to Coulson. “I don’t think you’ll mind transcribing her answers while you take her to see Nikolaj. I think I want to see just how well she does throw a knife.”

“Of course, Director.”

“Pending the results of a psych evaluation, welcome to SHILED, Miss Ferguson.” Loki narrowed her eyes. What had just happened? She’d agreed to nothing. This was preposterous.

Loki followed Agent Coulson back through the maze of a building as if in a fog. She answered all of his questions with one or two words, doing her best not to give the game away. She was stuck on trying to figure out what exactly was going on? This had to be an elaborate trick of some sort. There was the presence of the Asgardian the Couslon had mentioned was in the building as well that needed to be considered. She no longer heard the same sounds, however.

“Cell finished?” Coulson shrugged, possibly, they’d been working on it since Thor had called in. The person he sent over had been there since early that morning and was scheduled to depart some time that afternoon.

Soon enough, they arrived in what appeared to be a target practice space. There were thick walls that divided one end of the room into segments; some kind of pulley system was attached to the ceiling in each one. There was a tall man moving a solid-looking standee with a target painted onto its center of mass into place in one lane. He was fair and bearded and reminded Loki of the people she’d met long ago on her trips to Midgard.

“Nik! Good to see you.” Agent Coulson and the man who’d been moving the target clasped each other’s forearms in greeting. “Brought a new recruit. Fury wants to see what she can do.”

The man nodded, “I heard.” He had a familiar and pleasant accent. He wasn’t bulky like Thor. More like Fandral. Thinner, but still solid. “So you throw blades?” Loki nodded. “And I hear you may have some experience with swordplay? And archery, evidently?” She nodded again. “Quite an interesting variety for a young woman. Alright then, let’s see what you can do, Mischief.” His eyes glittered good-naturedly and knowingly. She smiled shyly as she was directed to a wall lined with blades of all shapes and sizes.

Loki chose one that was close to the blades she’d used her whole life. She stepped into the lane that Nikolaj directed her to. “Go ahead.” She stood for a moment, finding the balance of the blade, then lifted her arm and threw it almost casually at the standing target. It stuck in the thing just above the colorful, concentric circles. Coulson frowned. Nikolaj handed her another blade, “Again.” She let it fly through the air and it stuck in the center of the target, near the top.

“Onheil, I don’t think you’ve got very good aim.” Coulson frowned more deeply. Nikolaj shook his head and walked down the lane toward the target. He stood beside it and indicated on his own body where the blades would have landed. Heart and head. Coulson’s eyes went wide with surprise. “I stand corrected. You’ve got excellent aim.”

After that, the weapons master put her through the paces with a bow and arrow. “Impressive.”

After that, he took out some dummy blades and tossed one to her, “En garde.” Loki smiled and attacked. They were both breathless when they finished. Coulson had been steadily talking notes the entire time. Nikolaj took the practice sword from her. “Looks more like you’ve had combat training than fencing lessons.” Loki just shrugged in response, revealing nothing. “I heard you took Barton out while he was up in a sniper nest.” She responded in the affirmative, but insisted it had been a lucky shot, he’d only been hiding in a tree. “Still pretty good. I’m not going to put a gun in your hands until you’ve had some proper training, though.”

He turned toward Coulson and wiped the sweat from his brow. “She looks like a half-starved street urchin. Get a meal in her. Maybe her aim will improve.” He grinned and clapped the agent on the shoulder as he walked by, leaving them alone.

***

“Your girlfriend is down in the target room.”

“What?” Steve looked up from the files he was reviewing.

“Onheil. She’s downstairs with Coulson. Nik’s putting her through the paces.” Clint was leaning against the doorframe casually. “She really can throw a knife.”

Steve was excited and sad and confused all at the same time.

“Word around the water cooler is Fury wants her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“For a team. Some kind of specialty thing he’s developing.”

“I’ve got no idea.”

“She’s _your_ girlfriend, shouldn’t you know these things?”

Steve sighed. He was pretty sure that wasn’t true anymore, but he didn’t say that to Clint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> What does Fury have up his sleeve?
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.
> 
> PS. You should totally be imagining the actor who plays Jamie Lannister when you read about Nikolaj. I stole his given name and everything.


	43. More than Meets the Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Coulson have a chat.

Loki could feel herself swaying on her feet. She spread her legs to stabilize her body and leaned forward, bracing her hands against her knees. The back of her shirt and her hair was sticking uncomfortably to her skin, which felt like it was on fire. She was sure her face was red. She tried to suck in breath and felt like she couldn’t get enough of the stuff into her lungs.

“Onheil, are you alright?” She put a hand up and Coulson put one of his on her shoulder. “Fine—I’m fine. I just…I’m not feeling one-hundred-percent at the moment. I’ve been a bit under the weather.” She barked out a short laugh, “I promise I’m not as out of shape as I must appear.”

Coulson took his hand off of her shoulder and waited patiently for her to catch her breath. She felt like her empty stomach was trying to turn itself inside out by traveling up her throat and out of her nose. Her head was throbbing. When she straightened her body it was just slightly too fast and she felt as though her head might actually explode from the pressure of the blood rushing through it. “Let’s get you something to drink.” She nodded, woozy, and allowed Coulson to lead her. She’d given up trying to memorize her path through the building.

He took her up in an elevator and led her into a cafeteria. “Sit. I’ll be back.” He hesitated, about to leave his papers on the table in front of her, and then thought better of it. The action made Loki itch with annoyance. She wanted to see what he’d been writing. Coulson returned a few moments later with a tall bottle of water and a very bland looking sandwich. “Thank you.” Loki uncapped the bottle and waved it under her nose to sniff it before putting it to her lips, eyes narrowed at Coulson. He laughed, “I’m not going to poison you, Onheil. I promise.” She took a hesitant sip before draining a quarter of the bottle. She felt slightly better, enough to be embarrassed when her stomach rumbled. She apologized, “It’s fine, Onheil. Eat. Nik is right, you look starved.” She picked up half of the sandwich and tucked in without objection. “Does this have something to do with what happened with Captain Rogers up in Pennsylvania?” She swallowed what was in her mouth and drained another quarter of the water before answering. “No.” It was an easy lie and not a full one. She’d made herself ill, in truth, but it wouldn’t have been necessary if she hadn’t been involved with the Captain. She supposed that was her fault as well. She’d certainly been the one directing him through their first encounter. “Something I ate or drank, I think.” Another half-truth. Coulson nodded, clearly not fully believing her.

“I have to apologize for Director Fury’s…forwardness. When he sees something he wants…well…he doesn’t let up.”

“And why exactly does he want me?”

“He thinks you could be dangerous. Especially since it’s been obvious for a while that you’re not who you claim to be.”

Loki choked, “What do you mean by that?”

Coulson shrugged, “That your name isn’t really ‘Onheil Ferguson’ for one. Not _much_ more than that. Steve hasn’t said a lot. He’ll tell anyone who asks about you that your story isn’t his to tell. Natasha is crazy over the fact that she can’t dig anything up on you. Quite honestly, I think she might be a little jealous. Where ever you came from…whomever you are…you certainly covered your tracks well, put all the proper documents in order.”

“I don’t really want to be found, Agent Coulson.”

“Steve said as much. Some family issues?”

“That is an understatement.”

“To be honest, I have to assume there was some kind of abuse or something involved for you to fake your own death and run away.”

Loki was mortified that Steve had revealed as much as he apparently had. What exactly was this man’s definition of _a lot_? “There was. Among other issues.”

“Something to do with your inheritance being denied.”

“Yes.”

“Somehow I have to believe that a young woman with your…skill set…wouldn’t easily be trapped under the thumb of an abuser.”  
”When it is your own family, it is very hard to find the strength to defend yourself. Leaving was my only option.”

“Steve said you left something important behind.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“S.”

“That is none of your business.”  
”Whatever S is, if it’s that important to you, it’s also a danger to you. Especially if you do join us.”

“I was under the impression that I did not have much of a choice.”

Coulson sighed, “Fury can be rather…manipulative. I assure you, you have a choice.” Loki remained quiet, finishing the sandwich and nursing the water. “Can I ask what your educational background is? Did you attend a university?”

Loki shook her head, “Private tutelage.”

“What did you study?”

“Everything.”

“And by that you mean, what, Miss Ferguson?”

“Language, government, history, economics, art, theology, mathematics…” She paused, tempted to say sorcery, just to see how he would react. “Science.” That sounded about right. “Whatever I could get my hands on.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“You’re practically a trained assassin…and a scholar.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Just is.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What about your _special_ abilities? Do you really not have any control over it?”

“At the moment, no. The lack of control seems to be emotionally linked.” Not a total lie.

He nodded, “How long have they manifested?”

“Excuse me?”  
”How long have you been able to do…” He mimed an explosion moving from his chest outward over the table between them.

“For as long as I have memory.”

“Have you ever had anyone attempt to help you learn how to control it? How to use it?”

“My mother.”

“And she…”

“Possessed the same abilities.”

“So then they weren’t a point of contention? A reason for the difficulties at home?”

“Oh, quite the opposite. Father opposed my education. He did not mind mother’s abilities, but my own execution of them were not appealing to him.”

“Oh?” Coulson looked confused.

“No child of his.” Loki mimicked Odin’s stern voice, something she heard often when listening at doors or beneath windows. Coulson nodded. He looked like he really didn’t understand but Loki could not explain further. “He just did not like it.”

“So your father was the primary issue.”

“I suppose. My mother was often…compliant. Though she did sometimes attempt to defend me or to deflect some of his anger. She’d try to help me cope after the fact.” She paused in thought. “My brother as well, he’d try to help me cope sometimes. Never quite put up a fight, rarely came to my defense directly. Most times my subjugation benefited him. We were close when we were young, I suppose, before it became clear he was the favored child—the heir apparent. Things went downhill steadily after that. ” She looked down at her hands around the bottle and swiped at the condensation on the outside. “Especially in the last several years.” She looked back up at Coulson. “Is it entirely necessary that you know this information?”

“It may or may not be. If you don’t want to talk right now, you don’t have to.”

“You still have not told me what exactly your director wants with me, beyond the fact that he sees me as a threat. Why does he want me to join you?”

“To utilize your abilities. Help you hone them.” Coulson drummed his pen against the papers he’d been taking notes on the whole time. “In his mind, if your one of us—with those abilities—you cannot be used against us.” He made a face like he was trying to decide something. “Onheil, have you ever heard of Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters? The Institute for Higher Learning?” She shook her head. “That’s kind of surprising, to be honest.”

“Agent Coulson, I may have lived a life of relative privilege, but it was also rather isolated. Please excuse my ignorance.”

“It’s a place for people with natural abilities like yours to learn how to use them and control them while getting a traditional education.”

“Oh?”

“Professor Xavier would like to meet you.”

“I do not believe I would like to meet him.”

“He can help you.”

“Somehow, I do not think so.”

“You’re pretty obstinate, aren’t you?”

“If I wasn’t, life would be much less interesting. And I wouldn’t be able to quite so easily put Mr. Stark in his place.” Coulson laughed at that. “And you still haven’t really answered my question.”

Coulson looked like he was trying to make a very difficult decision. “You need to promise me that you’re not going to say anything about this to anyone.” Loki nodded. “I’m only telling you because I’m sure you’ve heard a good deal about the agency and what we do because of your relationship with Steve and the other Avengers.”

“I would not say I had a relationship with the other Avengers.”

“Mr. Stark was under the impression you had a fairly friendly relationship. I would think Dr. Banner as well, and Miss Potts. Didn’t you spend time socially at the Tower?”

“With Steve, yes.”

“Regardless… You obviously know most of the details of Thor’s recent communications.” She nodded. “We’ve been doing our homework on the whole dragur thing. They’re pretty nasty even by themselves. Control over weather, magic, shape-shifting, foresight, invading dreams…if Loki is one of these things, well, if he came here he could do a hell of a lot more damage than he did last time. And to put the icing on the whole corpsey cake, it sounds like these things can’t really be killed with a conventional weapon. You need a hero or something. Someone willing to literally wrestle it back into its grave with their bare hands.”

“But Loki has no grave, unless Steve got the story wrong.”  
”Exactly. Which is why we’re building that cell.”

“And you still haven’t said why you need _me_.”

“You’re not exactly a conventional weapon.”

“And Thor cannot accomplish this task? Your Avengers?”

“We wouldn’t risk their safety.”

“But you would risk mine.”

“No! No. If you could use your…powers…against him, you’d never have to touch him. With some training, you might be able to at least hold him off or distract him enough for someone else to do the heavy lifting. Not sure you’d match him in the magical department, though.” _Oh, how ignorant._

“My, my. Aren’t you all terribly clever.” Loki pursed her lips. “And if I refuse?”

“Then Earth may be up shit’s creek without a paddle.”  
”But there are other people with _special abilities_ , no? A whole school of them?”

“They’re not really all that willing to work with government agencies. And rightfully so, I suppose. I really can’t believe you’ve never heard of them.”

“Believe it, Agent Coulson.” Loki frowned when her phone began vibrating in her pocket. Her frown got even deeper when she saw who was calling. She hit the ignore icon and placed the phone down on the table. “So, if I were to say yes, how exactly would we be going about this?” Her phone started vibrating again and she ignored it completely.

“Do you need to take that?”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t press any further. “You’d go through some initial screening, background check and all that.” Loki pointed out that she did not have a background to check. “With DNA and fingerprints, we’ll be able to get what we need.” She was fairly confident that they wouldn’t find anything, so she remained silent. “Psych evaluation, of course. You might have heard Steve talk about the doc before, Coop’s a pretty good guy.” Loki shrugged; she was not sure what her opinion of _the doc_ was. “Before you could be considered a full-fledged agent you’d need training. Protocol, combat, all that good stuff.”

“That all sounds cripplingly boring.”

“You’d be the first of an extremely special team, Onheil.”

“It appears I’d be the first and only, Phil.”

***

“Can you get a read on her, Charles?” The man in the wheelchair shook his head and glanced up at the large television screen on the wall in Director Fury’s office. “No, I’m sorry, I cannot. It’s like there’s a brick wall around her.” Fury frowned and looked over at Steve. “Call her again.”

“Director, this is getting ridiculous.”

“Call her _again_ , Captain Rogers.” Steve sighed, unable to really resist following orders. He dialed Onheil’s number a third time and watched the television screen.

“All I can feel is her agitation, nothing much more than before.”  
”Director, please, I really don’t want to be involved in this.”

_“Are you sure you don’t need to get that?”_ Onheil shook her head and ignored the phone. It went to voicemail eventually and Steve hung up. She looked terrible. Guilt twisted in Steve’s stomach.

“You really did something to piss that girl off, didn’t you Captain?”

“That’s really none of your business, Director.”

“Cooper said you called him in a panic state. Said you did a _really bad thing_.”

“Again, none of your business.” He turned to Professor Xavier. “I’m sorry, Professor. I just don’t see what the point of this is. I kind of feel like it’s an invasion of her privacy and I don’t want to be involved.”

The professor nodded and continued to study the girl on the screen. “There is much more to her than meets the eye.” He turned to Steve, “She never displayed any abilities like that before?”

Steve shrugged. He’d always felt like the air was full of static when he was around her. But he always just assumed it was because of the way he felt about her. He remained silent. If the least he could do to protect her from SHIELD was to not talk about her, then he would do it.

“Agent Barton, you can stop hovering at the door and just come in.” The door eased open and Clint poked his head in, an almost bashful look on his face. “You have something to share or you’re just sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Everything is…quiet. Or less loud.” Fury raised an eyebrow at him. Clint rarely spoke of the residual effects of his time under Loki’s control and never in the presence of the director. “In my head. When she’s around.” Professor Xavier studied him and declared the statement very interesting. “When it’s the same building, like now, it’s not as noticible. Kind of just like when I’m meditating. When Natasha is forcing me to meditate. But when it’s the same room, it’s incredible. I noticed it at the benefit.” He glanced toward Steve, apology written all over his face. “But when she’s right next to me,” he stuttered, trying to find the right word, “it’s like clarity. Like my brain is waiting for something important to happen and it needs everything to be quiet so it can pay full attention.”

“Call her again.”

***

Loki wanted to reach through the phone and knock Steve upside the head. Or track down his office and give him a piece of her mind. What he could possibly want, she didn’t know. She didn’t care. She just wanted him to stop calling.

“What?!” Her greeting was just a little too forceful. Some of the people in the cafeteria turned and looked at her.

“Hi.”

“Hello. What do you want? What is so important that you cannot take the hint that I do not wish to speak with you seriously?” Coulson was looking at her with astonishment.

“I…I…” He was hedging. “I heard you were at SHIELD. Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine, Captain.”

“Are you sure? You’re not hurt or anything?”

“I am positive.”

“Does this…does this have something to do with the last time I saw you?”

“If you mean that weekend, no, I don’t believe so. If you mean at Stark Tower, then yes, I do.”

“Oh.”

“I did not mean to do that.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“I did not mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Good.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, either.”

“I do not wish to discuss that matter, Captain.”

“But—“

“ _No._ ”

“Okay.” Steve paused; she could hear him take a deep breath. He was probably running his hand through his hair. “Can I see you?”

“No. Good day, Captain.” She hung up. Coulson raised a brow. “There, I have dealt with the obnoxiously buzzing phone. Can we please continue?”

“Certainly.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts again. “Where were we?”

“Whether or not I would be allowed to maintain the life I have cultivated.”

“Yes. Of course. I would think so. I don’t see anything that would compromise your position here. You work two jobs, right?” She nodded. He thought for a moment. “Quit whichever pays less or has less flexible hours.”

“I cannot afford to lose either paycheck. I am on the verge of losing my apartment.”

“Onheil, SHIELD will pay you.”  
”What?”

“If you work for us, you get paid. This isn’t a volunteer organization.”

“Oh.”

“But you’d probably want to keep up some semblance that you’re continuing to work as usual, given the sensitivity of your potential assignment.” She nodded. “And you’d get health benefits, you could utilize the medical staff here…you don’t need to hide out for weeks at a time because your sick, you can get actual treatment.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t left your apartment in a week and you look awful.”

“Oh. Yes, there is that, I suppose.”

“You’re sure this doesn’t have anything to do with you and Steve?”

“Positive.” She wished he would stop asking her about it. “If I say yes to your proposal, am I free to go?”

“You’re free to go no matter what.”

“Your director said I would be contained.”

Coulson shook his head. “Scare tactic. He doesn’t have the greatest social skills.”

“If I say yes, how soon can I expect a paycheck?”

“As soon as you pass all the appropriate evaluations.”

“Then yes.”

Coulson smiled. “Let’s get started then. We’ll stop by biometrics and have them take your prints on our way down to get you measured for uniforms. I’m sure Fury already has a contract for you burning a hole in his desk drawer.”

***

Steve was mortified by what he’d just heard. “You threatened to lock her up?”

Fury shrugged, “Worked, didn’t it?”

“No, Coulson worked, like he always does.”

“It’s neither here nor there, Captain. Agent Barton, don’t you have some duties to attend to elsewhere?” Barton took the hint and left. “Captain, I need to know that Miss Ferguson’s presence at SHILED is not going to compromise your stability.” Steve gritted his teeth and shook his head. “You’re free to go then.”

***

Fury turned to Charles when he was sure Captain Rogers was out of earshot. “Anything I need to know?”

“Neither one of them is being completely truthful. The Captain’s mind is muddled. I imagine it’s an effect of his medication and his condition. I believe he was trying very hard to keep his mind clear.”

“Don’t blame him around you, Charles.”

“I would make myself concerned about what happened between Captain Rogers and Miss Ferguson in Pennsylvania. I imagine Agent Coulson has knowledge of the event. Agent Romanov as well.”

Fury nodded, “Good to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So SHIELD wants to use Onheil as a weapon against a zombie-fied Loki. Somehow, I don't think that plan is QUITE going to work.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	44. Holding Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki begins to train at SHIELD.

Biometrics turned out to be a small office that housed a young woman with black powder smeared across her face and on the front of her white laboratory coat. It reminded Loki of the way Steve forever had charcoal or pencil along his jaw. Her gut tightened with longing and confusion. The girl grinned when Coulson opened the door. “Drew, this is Onheil. Hopefully, she’ll be joining us. We need her prints for a background search.” The girl called Drew lit up when Loki stepped into the room. “Finally!” She exclaimed, “It’s not often enough I get to print live people or something more than inanimate objects.” Coulson shook his head and turned to Loki, “Drew is our resident fingerprint analyst. Best in her field. Interpol keeps trying to steal her.” Drew blushed at the compliment and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Loki found herself confused by the whole process; she didn’t understand what getting images of the tips of her fingers would benefit. What was so important about the patterns on her skin? Was this the Midgardian search for undesirables—would the swirling patterns identify her as Jotun? They weren’t quite like the ones that appeared on her skin when it was blue and her eyes were red. The young woman first wheeled over a cart with a computer screen on it and a box that had a glowing green screen. She rolled Loki’s fingers across the screen on the box and an image appeared on the computer screen. When that was done, she used a soft brush like the one Loki had used once or twice to swipe colorful powered makeup onto her cheeks to cover Loki’s fingertips in the same black powder that seemed to be on Drew’s face and settled onto most of the working surfaces in a thin film. The powder was lifted off with sticky squares of paper that were adhered to the back of a sheet of plastic in boxes labeled with the name of each digit. When she was finished, Drew handed Loki a bottle of alcohol and a stack of paper towels to clean her hands with. “Welcome to SHIELD, Onheil.” Coulson said his goodbyes and Drew turned to let her fingers fly over a computer keyboard. One of the images she’d obtained from Loki’s fingertips was up on the screen; others were flying by in quick succession on another. As the glass door slid closed behind them the girl twisted her hair up and jabbed a pencil through it, the muffled sounds of a screeching guitar filtered through the glass.

“She’s quite the character.” Loki looked back over her shoulder at the door. The girl was bobbing her head back and forth in time with the music and bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet while she worked. “I like her.” Coulson nodded, “She is. Absolute mess but gets the job done well.” Loki couldn’t help but notice the way Coulson’s cheeks had been slightly pink the whole time they’d been in the office. “What’s next?”

“Next, you get jabbed with needles.” That didn’t sound pleasant. “Nah, Simmons will be gentle, don’t worry.”

“Simmons?”

  
”Well, she and Fitz have been working on your case since we got that footage from the subway this summer.” That didn’t sound good to Loki. “Fury promised them they’d get to follow through with it once we found the mystery mutant.”

“Mutant?”

“You.”

“I am not a mutant.”

“If you have the X-gene you are.” Loki didn’t have an answer and she didn’t like the superior tone Coulson was using. “It won’t take long. She just needs to draw some blood.”  _Oh, wonderful._

Simmons seemed to have been waiting for them when they reached the laboratory. “Onheil!” She threw her arms around Loki and squeezed. “I can’t tell you how excited I am. You’re going to be an  _agent_. And  _you’re_  the person from the video. This is fantastic. Can you imagine the research opportunities? You simply  _must_  allow me to run analyses. I’ve never in my wildest dreams thought I’d have the chance to directly study the biochemistry of someone with the X-gene. It’s just amazing.”

“Where is Fitz?” Loki was a little put off by the young scientist’s enthusiasm. She finally understood what Steve had been so wary about. Simmons had been much more reserved during the weekend they spent together.

Coulson cleared his throat and Simmons seemed to be trying to flip the ‘off’ switch on her excitement. “Fitz is with Dr. McCoy loading samples of known X-gene types for comparison to your genome.” It was completely beyond Loki, but she just nodded. She would spend some extra time at the library when she could and see what all of this was for herself. She had a thought that her studies at home would have been much quicker, and broader, had she such a tool as the Internet back on Asgard. She loved the ancient tomes she learned from, but it was just so  _slow_.

Loki found that obtaining her DNA, whatever that was exactly, was not as simple as drawing some blood. Steve had been right. Simmons was very thorough. After she’d drawn a few vials of blood she suck a swab into Loki’s mouth and plucked several hairs from her head. Loki was fairly sure her scalp was bleeding. “The known X-gene samples are from a few different sources. I think it will be better if I have samples from similar physiologic sources for comparison.”

“Are we done here? I think you’re going to sway Miss Ferguson toward changing her mind about joining us.”

“Right, sorry. Tone it down. Got it.” She turned toward Loki as she peeled the purple nitrile gloves off of her hands. “Good to have you, Onheil.” A grin crept across her face, “I can’t wait to see that energy in person. Somehow I don’t think grainy security video can compare.” With that, Coulson steered Loki out of the office, an apology on his lips.

Getting fitted for uniforms wasn’t much more than having her waist measured and saying what size shirt and shoes she wore. What had been the number on the box Steve had given her? “Ten.” She was handed a few pairs of pants made of stiff fabric and covered in pockets and loops like the ones she’d seen hanging in Steve’s closet. They were followed by plain black shirts with the agency logo printed on the front, a belt, and a pair of heavy boots. “I don’t need these. I have boots.” She picked up her foot and waved it around. The man handing the new pair over to her turned his nose up and said they were not regulation. She frowned and accepted the new pair. Coulson took them from her as they walked out. “We’ll get you set up with a locker so you don’t have to lug all this home.” Loki nodded and asked why she had to wear a uniform? She indicated that Steve went to work in regular clothing. Coulson himself was in a suit. “New recruit. Silly rules.” He shrugged. “Once you’re a full fledged agent you’ll have a choice. Most people wind up wearing them just because it’s easier than having to figure out what to wear every day.” He took her up to a floor that featured windows. They seemed to finally be slightly above street level rather than underground. He helped her find a locker and set a code for the lock. “Your name should be on there next time you come in.”

They moved toward what appeared to be the front end of the building and started to pass what must have been offices. There were nameplates beside most of the doors. Natasha walked by them in the hallway, the knife tucked into her boot not as subtle as it was when she was out on the street, a pistol strapped to her thigh. She nodded, acknowledging Loki and Coulson and kept moving. She disappeared through one of the doors. When Loki passed it she took note of the nameplate.  _Captain Steven Rogers, Avengers Initiative_. Her heart leapt into her throat. At least she knew what halls to avoid now.

Coulson took her back to his own office and made various appointments for her to go through physical and mental evaluations. “Dr. Cooper will see you first thing tomorrow morning. Then you can head down to medical. McCoy is visiting from the Xavier School to specifically see you. He’ll be overseeing your physical.” He handed Loki a booklet. It appeared to be a handbook. It featured a code of conduct and had several maps in the back. Coulson showed her where on the maps the offices she’s need to visit were. “We’ve taken the liberty of clearing your work schedule for the next two weeks so you can jump right into training and focus on learning the ropes.” He cringed at the furious look Loki shot him. “Sorry, it’s just kind of protocol. I’m really trying to get this all to end in your favor.” He sighed as he rose and led Loki down to the lobby. “I like you. Tony likes you. Pepper likes you. Heck, Clint likes you and he doesn’t really like anyone. Natasha…she’s not opposed to the idea of you. My little science team is enthralled with you—and not just because they want to experiment on you. Maria thought you were great. Rhodes practically threatened to kidnap you if SHIELD didn’t take you after he saw the way you shot that bow—and that was before the whole…” He mimed the explosion again the way he had earlier. “And in spite of the fact that Steve clearly seriously screwed things up, he’s a pretty good judge of character.”

“And Dr. Banner?”

“Has some misgivings. Natasha does too, to be honest, but she sees your value.”

“I was never under any illusion that Dr. Banner had any love for me, Phil. You don’t need to sugar coat it.”

“You make Hulk nervous.”

“Interesting.”

“Anyway,” he put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, “you’ll fit in fine. More than fine. I think you might actually like it here. You don’t have to hide here.” Loki choked down a laugh. “I’ll be overseeing your training.” He handed her a business card from the interior of his jacket. “Would you like a ride back home?”

“No, thank you. You’re most kind.” She tucked the card into her pocket.

Thunder crashed. Rain began to pour out on the street. The building seemed to shake. Loki cringed and curled in on herself. How could she have been so stupid? Of course Thor would be back to collect the sorcerer he’d sent to build the cell. She felt like she was going to cry and vomit and pass out all at once. “You okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. Thunder makes me nervous.”

“I can see that. It’s just Thor.” The rain cleared in a moment and it looked instantly brighter out. “Know what? Let me give you a ride anyway.” Loki nodded and Coulson led her down to the garage they’d arrived in. The ride back to Brooklyn was quiet, but much less tense than before.

When Loki arrived for her mental evaluation with Dr. Cooper, she saw no reason to lie. Steve had probably already told him everything. Even if he hadn’t, all they would need to do was question him. And so, she told the truth. To an extent, of course. 

***

Fury was sitting in his office, fingers tented under his chin. Dr. Cooper’s face was on the television screen on the wall. Coulson sat across the desk. Cooper’s evaluation was pulled up on the computer screen in front of Fury. One of the pages was a long list. A  _long, horrifying_  one. “How this girl hasn’t had a psychotic break, I don’t know.”

“Maybe that’s what the whole fake-my-death-and-move-to-New-York thing was.”

“No, that was calculated.”

“Will any of this hinder her function as an asset to the agency?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’d like to continue to see her, if she’ll agree. She’s clearly never had any sort of therapy before. We can approach it as standard protocol.”

“Not sure if she will agree to that, doc.” Coulson was shaking his head, looking over the print out of the evaluation on Fury’s screen.

_Physical abuse including but not limited to caning, whipping, beating._

_Enforced silence._

_Starvation._

_Systematic social isolation._

_Physical isolation and imprisonment._

_Verbal abuse._

_Emotional manipulation._

_Wrongful or perceived wrongful punishment._

_Threats to child._

“So, the child, that’s what S is?” The therapist nodded. “That could be a problem. If S was a thing, it might be easier to handle if someone used it as leverage against her. But if S is a person…”

“She didn’t raise him by her account. Wasn’t allowed to. The instinct is there though. It could be used to your advantage. Don’t threaten the kid, but take advantage of the protective instinct. She lets her gut guide her.”

“Is she a liability for Captain Rogers?”

“I don’t think so. She was very staunch about not discussing the weekend with the Avengers.” Coulson frowned when Fury glared at him. He’d very staunchly declined to discuss it when pressed as well. It wasn’t his to reveal and he was trying his best to earn Onheil’s trust. “But as long as they choose to work together, I don’t think any of it will be a problem. It’s not as if there aren’t other work-place romances and breakups going on here every day—are Romanov and Barton on again or off?” He shook his head and got back on topic. “She was pretty civil when she talked about him. He clearly did something to hurt her and their relationship, but she still seems to want to protect him. I thought Steve was reading more into the relationship than was really there,” he paused, scratching his head. “But I’m pretty sure had he got down on one knee, you know, before, she would have said yes. Seemed completely genuine.”

Fury closed his eyes as if trying to absorb everything. “She’s down in medical now, right?” Coulson nodded. “Let’s talk her into letting Simmons put her through the paces. Maybe we can get her and Captain Rogers in the same room that way.”

“Director, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s fair to either of them.”

Cooper shook his head, “No, I like the idea. I was going to suggest getting them in the training room or the gym together to see what would happen. This is better though. More controlled environment. Less likely to have an explosion from either of them. He’s determined to get her back and she’s determined to push him away.”

Coulson didn’t like it one bit. Onheil and Steve were people, not lab rats.

***

Agent Coulson appeared outside the door to the medical examination room when Loki was finished. She could not help but be astonished by the gigantic blue, furry man who had been poking and prodding at her. Too astonished to be embarrassed, she could not ever remember being touched and moved and examined so closely. That fur was just so distracting. And soft. Incredibly soft. She found herself wanting to embrace the man so she could rub her whole body against him.

“I think we’re finished here, Miss Ferguson. You will of course be notified when the genetic testing is finished as to whether or not your abilities are the result of the presence of the X-gene in your DNA.” Loki nodded, unable to find words. Coulson knocked on the door and was allowed entrance as she was finishing tying her laces.

“So what did you think of Dr. McCoy?”

“Surely you do not think that I secretly look like…him.”

Coulson chuckled, “No, of course not. Not everyone experiences the X-gene in the same way. There’s a woman who has blue, scaly skin and can look like anyone she wants. There’s another who shoots lasers out of his eyes and a girl who absorbs life forces and abilities through touch. Professor Xavier can do things with his mind.” Coulson directed her down a hallway and into an elevator. “Steve knows a few of them. He fought in the war with a man called Wolverine. The guy’s got an incredible healing rate and this metal fused with his skeleton.” He made fists and crossed his arms over his chest. “And these retractable claws made out of the stuff.”

“I promise you, I do not have claws.” Another link to Steve. Wonderful.

“I still think you should let Professor Xavier help you.”

“The furry gentleman wanted much the same. I do not need his help. When I am not…in a state…I assure you, I have sufficient control over my abilities. In spite of everything, my mother taught me well.” He directed her into a security office and then into a chair in front of a white curtain and told her to look at a green light and smile. A few moments later, a plastic card slid out of a noisy machine with her picture and name on it, the SHIELD logo above and the words  _Special Agent_  below. Loki held it in her hands and smiled, thinking how ironic it all was. If infiltrating SHIELD was this easy, then clearly her past attempt had been complete overkill. At least this way, she could keep an eye on things now that her link to the agency through the Captain was gone. Coulson snatched the card away and slipped it into a plastic sheath attached to a lanyard. “Nope, you don’t get this yet. You have to pay Fury a visit and sign your life away first.” He grinned at her and swung the lanyard around his fingers until there was no slack left.

“Miss Ferguson, please, sit.” Loki sat in the chair that Coulson pulled out for her. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us. You’re going to do important things.”

Loki put a hand up, “You can stop acting and get to business.”

Fury’s countenance changed. “I’ve reviewed your psych evaluation. Dr Cooper seems to think that you shouldn’t have any issues.” Loki nodded finding that fact terribly interesting. In truth, she had half hoped that he would deem her unfit. It would be easier to maintain the illusion of Onheil if she did not have to face these people every day. “McCoy thinks your good to go physically. Nikolaj was quite taken with you. Can’t wait to start working with you, in fact. Wants to see if you’re as good with other weapons as you are with a sword. Biometrics sent their report up. Nothing interesting except your application to work at the public library. No criminal history.” Loki covered up her snorted giggle with a sneeze and begged pardon. Fury narrowed his eye and continued.

“In truth, as long as you’re not a psychotic mercenary like—“ He turned to Coulson, “What’s that guy’s name?” Deadpool. “Right. Him. As long as you’re not like him, we would have taken you anyway. That’s a loose cannon no one wants to deal with.” He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, shaking off the temporary distraction. “All these X-Men running around my building give me agida.” Loki raised a brow and looked at Coulson, who said nothing. The sound of a new email coming through played from Fury’s computer. He glanced at the screen for a moment. “DNA indicates no prior history either. Looks like you’re either a saint or the second coming of Romanov.” Loki asked what he meant. “Really good at covering your tracks.” Loki shrugged in response. “Results about the X-gene probably won’t be back for a few weeks at least. So all that’s left is for you to sign on the dotted line.” He pushed a folder toward Loki and placed a pen atop. She took it, hesitant. “Read it through, if you must.” She skimmed each page. It wasn’t a long contract, concise and to the point. Loki noticed that it left the description of her position open ended. “In case the threat you’re being brought in to handle doesn’t come to light.” She mulled over it for a moment before scrawling Onheil Ferguson across the line at the bottom of the last page. Coulson signed it as a witness and dated the page before handing it back to Fury. “Well, would you look at that? Welcome to SHIELD, Miss Ferguson.”

Coulson walked her down to the lobby and pulled the ID card with her picture on it out of his pocket. He held it out like he was going to put the lanyard over her head. “May I bestow upon you, Probationary Special Agent Onheil Ferguson, the keys to the kingdom.” He grinned and slipped the lanyard around her neck. “Or, you know, a swipe card to get in the front door.”

When Loki got home that evening, she called the library and left a message indicating her resignation. As much as she wanted to keep that job rather than remaining at the coffee shop, it was the less flexible of the two. When that was done she called the manager of the shop to apologize for her extended absence.

“Onheil, is everything okay? Steve hasn’t been here in ages. Then you call out sick. Then this guy in a suit comes in flashing a badge and telling me you’ll be taking a leave of absence. What the heck is going on?”

“I’m sorry, I…I took a job with the firm that Steve works for.” Most people believed his day job was with a defense firm. Not too far from the truth, but SHIELD was still fairly secretive even with the wide public knowledge of the Avengers. “I think it may just be temporary, but I needed it.” It was fine. He understood. “I’ll be back as soon as all this training nonsense is over. I’ll take all the undesirable shifts.”

“Good. Matthew has the worst taste in music. The customers are starting to complain.” Loki laughed.

The following day brought her back to SHIELD. She used the ID card to let herself in and breezed past the security checkpoint, blowing a kiss to the person who’d demanded her credentials just days before. When she dressed in the tactical pants and black tee shirt from her locker, she went to the training floor to meet Nikolaj. He tossed a staff to her in greeting and launched into attack. It felt like dancing. It felt like home.

***

A week after Onheil appeared at SHIELD with Coulson, Steve’s computer screen lit up with an incoming video call from Tony. He clicked the answer icon. “Hey, Spangles! I hacked into SHIELD again.”

“I can see that, Tony.”

“Come over tonight. I’m inviting the whole gang. We’re going to watch…” His eyes glittered mischievously. “An action flick.”

Steve looked down at the large calendar in his desk blotter, eyes roaming over and finding the current date.  _Dancing lesson with Bug @ 7._ He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Okay.” When Tony hung up, he called the studio he was supposed to be at that evening. “Hi, yeah, Steve Rogers? I booked a block of lessons for a partner and myself. I’d like to cancel them. I don’t have a partner anymore. No. No, I don’t intend on taking the class alone. It was…it was a thing. Yeah. Thanks.” When seven that evening arrived, he found himself in the cushiony screening room with Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Bruce rather than awkwardly moving to Latin music with Onheil in his arms.

Tony asked JARVIS to turn down the lights and start the movie. There was dramatic music over a black screen before the security footage from the subway began to play. It cut out into the footage from Stark Tower. Steve watched himself get thrown backward into the elevator doors from the force of the energy Onheil had unleashed on him. “Is this some kind of sick joke, Stark?”

Tony hushed him and the music quieted again. They were watching the target room. Nikolaj was watching as Onheil weighed a knife in her hand and tossed it casually down the lane she was standing in front of. Then she was shooting a bow and arrow. Clint huffed in annoyance. Then they were fighting. Onheil was breathless and red-faced at the end, but not really worse for wear. She’d actually kept Nik on the ropes. “This is what you meant when you said you hacked SHIELD?” Tony hushed him again.

The footage changed to the combat training room. Onheil and Nik were fighting with bo staves. They looked more like they were dancing. It made Steve’s heart ache to think of. Onheil’s movements were as much fluid and graceful as they were forceful. The match seemed to end in a draw.

Next her opponent was another agent, a brute of a man who rivaled Thor in girth and muscle. They were grappling on the floor. Onheil wrapped her legs around the man’s neck and squeezed until his face turned red and he pounded the floor with the flat of his hand. Steve couldn’t help but allow one corner of his mouth to twitch up into a smile when he noticed she was wearing her own boots rather than the ones SHIELD must have issued to her. They went another round. Onheil moved more slowly this time. She seemed to be watching him more—it reminded Steve of the way she’d watched him, like prey, the very first night he met her—feeling out his moves and predicting what would come next rather than simply reacting. She’d already established her dominance and her opponent didn’t seem very keen on getting strangled again. The match seemed to suddenly slide in the agent’s favor.

“She’s letting him win.” The other Avengers turned to look at Natasha. “She’s letting him win,” the assassin repeated. “JARVIS, rewind that a little—stop. Play.” The footage played. “There, see? She goes in for the point and then stops, like she’s reconsidering it. She lets him pin her instead.” They went quiet, each of them watching much more intently than before.

More footage from the target room came up. Nikolaj was teaching Onheil how to handle a pistol. She insisted he demonstrate first while she stood beside him and mimicked each of his motions. She matched his posture, his breath, pretended to squeeze the trigger when he did. Onheil ran her fingers over the weapon as the weapons specialist explained again how everything worked again, memorizing every groove, feeling the weight. Then she was shooting—all poise and control—and the target was sliding forward on the overhead track. The center of the target was nearly completely shot out, just a few stray holes on the outer edges that seemed to be her first shots. Nikolaj was nodding his head and talking to Coulson just at the edge of the frame. Onheil hadn’t blinked once.

“There’s more, but these last clips were the most exciting.” Tony poked Steve in the side and he flinched hard. Onheil appeared on the screen once more. The large agent was there again. She wasn’t facing him. Nik was distracting her, tossing her a wooden practice blade and speaking to her. The agent got within several feet, rushing her from behind, before Onheil’s body whipped around. Green-gold energy flowed from her fingertips, splayed like a ballerina’s, and knocked the large man backwards.

Finally, there she was with Coulson’s star player, Agent May. The two were engaged in swift hand-to-hand. Onheil was smiling and laughing in contrast with May’s quiet determination. She was speaking the entire time, her ponytail—much shorter that it had been the last time Steve had seen her in person—swung from side to side as if keeping the tempo of the match like a metronome. May seemed to be trying her best to ignore whatever Onheil was saying. The woman gripped Onheil’s wrist and easily threw her over shoulder. Onheil landed in a crouch and straightened herself up, a smile on her lips. She looked at May with a wicked glimmer in her emerald eyes. May stopped her forward motion. Onheil easily threw her down, pinning the woman to the floor, boot to chest. “Capsicle, I think your girlfriend just talked Melinda into losing the match.”

Bruce cleared his throat. His voice was husky with agitation, the way he got when he was trying to force Hulk back down into darkness. “There’s no way you didn’t know about any of this.” In each progressive match, Onheil had allowed her opponent to gain quite a bit of ground. She looked like she was taking everything in, learning what to anticipate and considering her next move with great scrutiny before she made it. Quite often, it looked as if she was truly holding back. Forcing herself to slow down. Miss the block. Be put into a hold.

“I swear, I had no idea.” Steve’s heart was hammering in his chest. His mind was swimming. He really knew nothing about her, the woman he’d fallen so hard for and cared so much for. Steve’s work phone started buzzing in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, an email from Coulson. It was copied to Nikolaj and Fitz-Simmons.

_Per Director Fury’s request: Captain Rogers will report to Agent Simmons at 0800hrs tomorrow for med-kit set up and initial resting evaluation prior to reporting to Combat Room 1A. Evaluation of Probationary Special Agent Ferguson in conjunction with Captain Rogers’ scientific evaluation to follow. Agent Fitz to report to Combat Room 1A at 0800hrs to set up any necessary apparatus. Conditions non-negotiable._

Steve couldn’t imagine what was going on. What did Onheil have to do with the testing that Simmons was performing? “Steve, what’s going on?” He realized he was gripping his phone just slightly too hard.  “I really don’t know. I…I have to go.” As Steve got up to leave, he could hear the rest of his team murmuring behind him. “Well, that was certainly…enlightening,” Natasha said quietly.

***

Loki glanced down at the phone that had been issued to her, like the one that Steve had on him all the time. There was a message from Coulson.

_Per Director Fury’s request: Probationary Special Agent Ferguson will report to Agent Simmons at 0830hrs tomorrow for med-kit set up and initial resting evaluation prior to reporting to Combat Room 1A. Evaluation of Probationary Special Agent Ferguson in conjunction with Captain Rogers’ scientific evaluation to follow. Agent Fitz to report to Combat Room 1A at 0800hrs to set up any necessary apparatus. Conditions non-negotiable._

What were they getting at?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack. That was so rough. I'm so sorry. The more I try to edit it, the worse it gets. 
> 
> I hope it was enjoyable anyway.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	45. Too Much, Too Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve engage in a dangerous dance.

Loki had stood in front of the mirror of her small bathroom one evening after she’d returned home from SHIELD. That brute of a man had grabbed her ponytail and used it as leverage against her. It had to go. As much as she liked the look of the long braid traveling down her spine, it was a hazard. She simply picked up the scissors and hacked. It was choppy and uneven and she found that she didn’t quite care.

Loki had found a fast friend in that odd woman who had obtained the images of her fingertips. She’d entered the showers one evening after going several rounds with Coulson’s agent. What had her name been? April? June? Loki found it hard to remember. She knew it was a Midgardian month. Most people responded to “Agent” anyway so the need to retain information like names lacked urgency. There was someone singing rather loudly over the spray of water. The sound was echoing out into the locker room. Loki undressed and headed in anyway. The singing faded within a few moments and she could hear the slap of wet footsteps against the tiled floor.

The woman with the black powder on her face from biometrics was pulling on agency-issued clothing when Loki ventured back toward her locker. Evidently, Drew had knocked a gallon can of fingerprint powder off of a high shelf.  _Absolute mess. Coulson was right._  Facilities had barred her from the office until she was free of powder herself so that they could clean up the room. “Do you want to go grab a slice, or something? You’re always by yourself.” Loki agreed readily. She hadn’t realized how starved for real contact she had become until the offer of companionship had been made.

Drew laughed when Loki appeared in the doorway of the biometrics lab the morning after the email had arrived in her inbox. “I am lost.” Drew led her down to the laboratory that belonged to Fitz-Simmons. “So, what are you headed there for?”

“I’ve no idea. I’m to report to Agent Simmons for something called a med-kit before going to the combat room.”

“Ah. She’s going to paste a bunch of sensors on you so that she can see what’s going on with your innards while you’re training.” The fingerprint analyst wagged a finger indicating Loki’s torso and whatever was within. Loki always found it curious that Drew never once asked about why she’d been chosen to join the agency or why they seemed so intent on turning her into a warrior for them. She also never made any reference to that infernal X-gene that everyone was so convinced Loki had. It was refreshing to simply be appreciated for her conversational skill and general company. “Here you go.” There were voices audible inside the laboratory. “Sounds like they got started without you.”

Loki thanked Drew for the guidance. “You know, you’ve got a little something,” she licked her thumb and made as if to swipe at the side of the other woman’s face.

“Ack! I got it!” Drew dodged the thumb and swiped at her own face, making the smudge worse. “Go deal with Simmons. You can tell me all about getting probed tonight over whiskey-gingers.” Loki grinned and nodded before stepping inside the lab.

The grin faded instantly. Steve was sitting on the edge of a counter that ran down the middle of the room, white dots placed in a pattern over his temples. Simmons was working to stick larger white dots onto his bare chest and back. “Ah! Onheil, right on time. I’m just finishing with Captain Rogers.”

“What is he doing here?”

“Didn’t you get the email from Coulson? You’re being evaluated together. Two birds with one stone and all that. Word on the block is no one really wants to fight you after you bested May.” Simmons shook her hand wildly, one of the sticky white circles stuck to her skin instead of Steve’s.  “Is it true you argued her into losing?” Loki declined to answer. The Captain seemed determined not to look at her. Simmons’ tablet started making noises on the counter beside him. “Whoah, Captain, calm down! This is supposed to be a resting baseline.” Steve apologized and took a deep breath. Within several long beats, the activity on the tablet calmed. “Alrighty, Onheil, your turn.”

Loki decided that she wasn’t going to allow the Captain’s presence to fluster her. She hoisted herself up onto the opposite side of the counter, her back to Steve a few feet down from him in the next clear spot after stripping off her agency shirt. Simmons began to enter information onto her tablet and then commenced placing dots on Loki’s forehead in the same pattern on Steve’s.

“You cut your hair.”

“Yes.”

“It’s short.”

“Indeed it is.” She’d taken off enough length that it just barely skimmed her shoulders.

“It’s different.”

“It is the same hair growing out of the same head, Captain.” He fell silent. The noises coming from the tablet after the white dots were placed on her own skin were much more calm and steady than those that had rung out before. It was another half hour before Coulson arrived to lead the trio down to the training floor.

“It was awful.” Loki watched as Drew paused and poured another shot of whiskey over the ice in the tall glass. “He wasn’t even trying. It was like…like…” Loki let out a frustrated sound and slammed her hand, open-palmed against the arm of the chair she was curled up on. Drew’s apartment was similar to her own, her eclectic taste in music and art on display all over the walls, the only one not covered in frames and canvases occupied by shelves bursting with scientific texts and journals. “I don’t understand what they want from me. From us.”

“Sounds like Fury’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Sounds like Coulson is no longer protecting my best interests.”

“Phil’s one of the good guys.”

“Good, but far too pliant.”

“So what did they have you do?”

“We were supposed to fight, I guess. Simmons’ wants to study us. She claimed it would be two birds with one stone.” Why were Midgardian clichés so foolish sounding? “But he wouldn’t  _do_  anything. He practically just stood there. It was like being a child in my first bout with an opponent again.”

“So you  _have_  had training?”

“Yes.”

“Did you…you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Use your  _powers_.” Loki was slightly shocked at the statement. It was the first time Drew had made any reference to her abilities. She shook her head.

“That was what they wanted, I’m sure.” She took a long sip of her drink. “And I’m not about to give it to them that easily.”

Drew giggled, “You’re so feisty.” Loki rolled her eyes and chucked a pillow toward her.

“He’s holding back. I don’t like it.”

“You dated, didn’t you?” Loki nodded. “And it was serious?” Affirmative. “Maybe he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He  _is_  Captain America. Super Soldier and all that.”

Loki looked away, nursed her drink. “He already  _has_ hurt me.” She scanned the walls, looking for a way to change the subject. “What is that?” She pointed at a series of photographs with abstract looking red splatters across a white field.

“Blood spatter. Scene reconstruction.”

“And that?”

“Bone in soil. Alternative light source.”

“That?”

“Bruise. Infrared photograph.”

“And that?”

“Bullet hole and fracture pattern. Car windshield.”

“Why such morbid subjects?”

“I’m a forensic scientist. My work is beautiful and disturbing and I like to bring it home. Fingerprints are my specialty, but I’ve done all that too. It’s like telling a story that no one else can, making sure it’s told correctly—truthfully.” Loki nodded and grew quiet. She wished there were people like Drew on Asgard. “Onheil, can I ask why the two of you broke it off?”

“I don’t think we actually officially have. I simply walked away.”

“Why did you walk away?”

“Our baggage was no longer a matched set. Although, I rather think it may have been too matched.”

“Oh, honey.”

Loki hit the floor with a solid thud. The air left her lungs and stars danced in front of her vision. He was still holding back, but at least he’d actually moved. The Captain sidestepped her blow with the staff, deflecting it off of his shield, and swept her feet from beneath her. Somewhere off to one side of the room, Fitz-Simmons’ computer equipment was beeping. It had been a week of training with the Captain and this was the first actual responsiveness she’d gotten from him.

***

The week dragged on slowly. Every morning, Steve reported to Simmons at 0800hrs. She stuck sensors to his body and coded them to transmit to her tablet and the equipment Fitz was operating in the combat room. Every morning Onheil arrived at 0830hrs. Every morning she was silent and stony. He stopped trying to engage her on conversation. If this was the way she wanted it, he just had to respect that.

Steve accepted Pepper’s invitation to Thanksgiving dinner at Stark Tower simply because it was from Pepper. And because he was expected to attend. Everyone joked and laughed and gorged themselves on pounds of food. Steve did his best to hide, to participate. He was off of his meds for the time being. Simmons and Dr. Cooper had agreed that the best baseline possible could only be obtained that way. He felt like he had before. Before Onheil. Before his week away from the world. Before the fights and the breakups and the rewinds and the resets and the over-writes. He felt like every muscle in his body was clenched in anticipation of something. In anticipation of the next blow up, the next flashback, the next episode. Pepper carefully steered the conversation away from he and Onheil whenever it dared to wander too close and Steve was thankful for it.

Onheil hit the floor with a solid thud. She lay there for a moment, blinking rapidly and sucking in air like she couldn’t get enough. He’d only meant to throw her off balance. Her aim was too good. If he hadn’t lifted his shield just at that moment, he was fairly sure he’d have an egg on the side of his head. Or a dent. He cringed, not sure whether to help her to her feet or not. He didn’t know which action would hurt her pride more.

He’d spent the week a worried wreck that he’d hit to hard, block to well. That he’d inflict physical damage to go along with whatever emotional trauma he knew he already had forced onto her. He imagined he could see the darkness he’d created writhing under her snowy skin.

She waved Nikolaj away when he approached and sat up slowly, rolling to her hands and knees and pushing herself up off the floor. She steadied herself as she turned to face him. Her jaw was clenched, her hands balled into fists. Steve raised his shield as she closed the distance between them in three long strides. She placed her hands against the vibranium shell and pushed. Hard.

***

Loki decided she’d had enough. She was done with this farce. She was done with pretending she was less than she was. She was tired of the Captain pretending  _he_  was less than  _he_  was. She got to her feet and stepped toward him. She braced her hands against that stupid white star and pushed with as much strength as she could muster.

“Stop— _push_ —holding— _push_ —back!” A final push.

Steve was stumbling backward, trying to keep his shield up to protect his core.

“Why don’t  _you_?”

***

Onheil’s pupils were blown, her eyes black with the tightest possible ring of sparkling green around them. Steve was backed up against the wall. He used the shield to force her backward. She kept her balance and bent down to retrieve the staff from the floor where it had landed when she fell. The computers in the corner were going crazy. He hazarded a quick glance and saw the figure below Onheil’s name flashing red, his own icon turning steadily orange.

Steve felt a distinct static charge in the air, the same charge he remembered feeling the first night he met her. When she had been that wet, starved, haunted creature plowing through the dark and the rain and splashing him when those awful boots pounded down into a puddle.

***

“Why don’t  _I_? WHY DON’T I?” She picked the staff up off the floor and gripped it tightly. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end. Her ears began to ring. Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest.

She attacked with renewed vigor. She laid into the Captain with all that she had available to her in that moment. She landed half as many blows as he blocked and she didn’t care. The Captain crouched down, angling his shield over his head and shoulders as she brought the staff down. It splintered and shattered with a loud crack when it made contact.

***

Steve was too shocked to resist when he felt the leather straps of his shield begin to stretch and rip before they popped cleanly off of his arm. “Why don’t I stop holding back?” Onheil was standing over him gripping the edges of the disk and turning it so the faithful motif faced him. He got shakily to his feet. There was no denying it, she was as terrifying in her rage as she was beautiful in her repose.

She swung the shield wildly toward him and it made contact with his forearms. The air was crackling. Her hair was rising at the edges as if she’d rubbed a balloon over her head. The computers were making wild noises. “Because I know when too much is too much and too fast is too fast.”  Her voice was entirely too calm. She continued to swing at him with the shield, continued to land blows to his arms and gut with the edge and then snatch it back too quickly for him to regain control. “Because I wouldn’t _take advantage_ of the fact that _you_ are holding back.” She swung her arms down and back and brought them up swiftly, Steve’s arms came up too quickly and diverted the path of the shield’s upward swing.

***

The edge of the disk made contact with the Captain’s face. There was a disgusting pop and blood gushed from his nose. “Because I wouldn’t dream of pounding _my_ darkness into _your_ flesh. I wouldn’t _fuck_ you like that.” The shield made a deafening clatter when she dropped it onto the ground, punctuating her statement.

***

Onheil stood watching him bleed and his shield rolled in lazy circles. “But if that’s what you want, then you will certainly have it.” The static in the air had dissipated, though there were little crackles of green-gold energy dancing over her clenched fists.

Simmons poked her head out from behind the computer equipment on hands and knees. “I think everyone should take a breather.” Nikolaj picked the shield up off the floor and told Steve to get himself to medical. Onheil looked at the floor as he moved warily by her and was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 120 of you poor souls subscribing to this thing. I love each and every one of you for bearing with me and sticking it out and reading. I hope you all get as much of a thrill when the email that a new chapter is available comes through as I do posting them.
> 
> Loki and Steve are offering hugs to anyone who wants one. 
> 
> The three of us would like to do something super special for the upcoming 50th chapter. If there is anything anyone would specifically like to see--and it fits with the story so far--please let me know in the comments and I will do my best to include them.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.
> 
> PS: nephilim667, did you like the ending? ;) Not specifically what you requested, but I promise you, it's still coming!


	46. Bleach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Loki's one-sided bout.

There was nothing he could use to staunch the flow of blood from his nose. When he cupped his hand over his face he felt as though he would choke. He was leaving a trail of blood on the floor. Fury was standing at the end of the hall. “Shirt, Rogers.”

Steve blinked in confusion before he registered the director’s meaning. He stripped off his shirt gingerly and wadded it up around his face. “Sorry, Sir. I—I didn’t mean…” Fury put a hand up to stop him. It was fine, he would get facilities to come up and sanitize the hallway. “Just get yourself to medical.”

The doctor poked and prodded at his nose. The pain made Steve’s eyes water. “Well, she certainly did a number on you.” Steve caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface of the cabinet across from him. The bridge of his nose and the flesh under his eyes were blackened. The doctor handed him a wad of wet paper towels and told him to clean himself up. “I want you off of the training floor entirely until that’s healed. Can’t have America’s Hero running around with a crooked nose looking like he got into a street brawl.” Steve sighed. He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

He was leaning back, face covered with bandages, gingerly holding an icepack over the whole swollen mess, when Natasha came in. “I didn’t believe it when everyone said you were walking around with a smashed face, but I guess the rumors were right for once.” She cringed when he lifted the icepack and showed her his black and blue face. “What happened?”

“She hit me.”

“With what?”

“My shield.”

“How…?"

“She ripped it off my arm. And hit me with it.”

“Holy shit.” Steve started to chuckle and pain shot through his head intensely enough to make him nauseous.

“I deserved it.”

***

“That was quite the display, Miss Ferguson.” Fury was standing in the doorway looking down on her disdainfully. The room stuck of bleach. Facilities were scrubbing down the floor, the Captain’s path through the room obvious. Loki was huddled in the corner, breathing through her shirt. Fitz-Simmons had retreated to their lab. Whether they were more eager to analyze their data or to get away from her, she wasn’t sure. Nikolaj had gone off somewhere to have the Captain’s shield repaired.

“He deserved it.”

“Certainly sounds like he did.”

“I did not mean to injure him so badly. I just wanted him to stop treating me like I was glass. It takes quite a bit more than he can dish out to make me shatter.”

“Sounded like he already shattered you.”

“That is personal. It is between the Captain and I and is not your business.”

“You made it everyone’s business with that little speech of yours.”

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

“You have to. With Cooper. You’re seeing him on a regular schedule. Effective immediately.”

“No.”

“Tough shit. You see Cooper or your out.” He turned to walk out of the room. “And I know for a fact that you’re in no position to be out. No paycheck, no rent.”

Loki squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her jaw and hands, fighting to keep the magic down in her gut where she could control it, hide it. What was that song that Owen kept singing when he thought no one was listening? _Conceal, don’t feel. Well, now they know._

She picked her way across the wet floor and headed toward the locker room. She was sure that they wouldn’t object to her leaving for the day.

The following morning, when she reported to Simmons, the Captain was not there. She trained by herself. She shot arrows. She threw knives. She practiced with the new pistol Nikolaj had presented to her along with a slip of embossed paper that said she could use it.

“You’re tense. I can tell from the readings.”

“Would you not be?”

“No, I didn’t say that.” Loki was fairly sure this was the first time Fitz had addressed her directly. He seemed afraid of her. She supposed he now had reason. “The reading we got when you…” He gulped. “When you were using the shield.” He tugged at his collar. “They were off the charts. Not really your heart rate or the breathing or anything. The electrical response. The nerves. The brainwaves.” It meant nothing to Loki. “How exactly do you use those powers?”

Loki shrugged. “It just comes.”

“But how.”

“I do not know how.”

“You have to know. What do you feel like when you’re using them?”

“Like my whole body is aflame and the very air around me is waiting with bated breath.”

“Interesting.” He fell silent. She continued to shoot. She grinned when she looked down the lane, a neat _L_ traced in bullet holes in the paper. She loaded a fresh magazine and obliterated it.

The next time she saw him, he was sitting in the cafeteria with his sketchbook out in front of him. A bright white bandage shielded his nose. When she moved closer, she realized what looked like lack of sleep was actually heavy bruising under his eyes and disappearing below the bandaging across the bridge of his nose. She silently approached and slid into the seat across from him. He slapped the sketchbook shut and fixed his eyes on the cover.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“I don’t want an apology.”

Loki narrowed her eyes. He had a lot of nerve. “It was not my intent to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “You don’t need to say that. I got it.”

“Got what?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” He continued to look at the cover of the book. Loki could feel every eye in the room on them. “I’m not avoiding you, you know.”

“It certainly seems as though you are.”

“Medical hasn’t cleared me yet.”

“Oh.”

He looked up at her, finally, his eyes reddened. “Onheil, I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t sure what to say. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to. I just—“

Loki put a hand up to stop him. “I understand. More than you can imagine, I understand.”

“Do you hate me?”

“No. I hate what you did.”

“You didn’t…you didn’t stop me. You could have stopped me. You could have defended yourself. From me. From them. But you didn’t.” Loki knew what he was getting at.

“It is the hardest thing in the world to lift a hand against someone you love. Whom you believe loves you. Whom you want to please.” Steve looked away for a moment and made a pained face like he was going to sneeze. “I did not stop you because I thought it best to give you what you needed.” She paused before adding, “I should have stopped you.”

“I shouldn’t have done it.” He ran his hand through his hair. It had gotten shaggy. He was wearing it combed straight back rather than parted carefully. “Can we…Can we over-write this?”

“No.”

“You want nothing to do with me.”

“I did not say that.”

“We’ll just…train. I guess. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You already did.”

“I know. I don’t want to believe it.”

“I believe we may come to an understanding.”

He nodded, “A sparring partner is better than nothing.” He started to rise from his seat. “Tony’s been watching you, you know.” He indicated the security camera mounted in the corner of the room and walked away, sketchbook tucked under his arm.

Drew approached the table. “What are you all looking at?” She scolded the general population of the room before taking the seat Steve had vacated. She slid a paper cup toward Loki, steam drifting over it lazily, string from the tea bag hanging over the side. “Let’s chat.”

***

Tony didn’t invite Cap to the latest “movie night.” He didn’t think the man would want to watch himself get beaten up. Widow, Hawk, and Banner were on the edge of the couch watching in wide-eyed wonderment.

The pop when Steve’s nose broke was audible even in the security footage. Tony felt slightly ill. They continued to watch as Fury came into the room and Onheil left.

"Just so we're all in agreement, we're actively ignoring the fact that something clearly nasty happened between them, correct?" There was tense silence. They'd all been suspecting what had happened for some time, though no one wanted to say it out loud. No one wanted to admit they thought that Captain America was anything less than a Boy Scout. No one but Natasha knew for sure.

“It’s him. It has to be him.”

“What?” Tony turned to Bruce. In confusion. “Steve or Fury?”

“No. Onheil. She’s him. She’s Loki.”

“ _What?”_ Tony gave him the most incredulous look he could muster. The man was the most brilliant and most stupid he knew sometimes. “That is not Loki. Loki is dead. Or Undead. Or something. That is a beautiful woman with extraordinary powers.”

“I know it. Hulk can feel it. Smell it. Bag of cats.”

“No.” Clint was shaking his head. “If anyone should be thinking crazy things like that, it’s me.”

“Clint—“

“ _No._ Did any of you spend days with him in your head? No. You didn’t. I would know it. _I would feel it._ It doesn’t feel like Loki. It’s not…chaotic. It’s clarity.”

Natasha was silent and stony. She would point out his observations about Onheil's costume at the benefit when she had a moment alone with him.

“Besides,” Tony took a heavy drag from his glass. “Loki had that ridiculous accent. Onheil may talk funny, but she doesn’t sound like a stuck up British guy.”

“Sir,” JARVIS’ smooth voice ran out through the room. “I have finished the genetic comparison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was incredibly short. I'm so sorry. I feel like I've cheated you. I just wanted to set up some pieces without crowding/overloading the chapters.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.
> 
> PS: I think it's terribly funny that the kudos shot up after the BAMF!Loki chapter. I LOVE IT. I LOVE YOU.  
> Loki is terribly smug about the whole thing.


	47. Tented Arches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danger: Science-y explosion ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I've said before in the comments, I'm not hugely into the X-Men. So, I don't really know if there's been serious discussion about how the X-gene is expressed on a molecular level and whatnot. I read a quick article that gave an overview of what the gene is and that there are different levels of evolution and all that. So if whatever I've written conflicts with canon, I'm completely unaware of it. I won't be changing it though.
> 
> That being said, enjoy!

“That is _not_ mutant DNA.” Banner squinted and cleaned his glasses as he peered critically at the information JARVIS was displaying. Tony began to scroll through the available profiles from known mutants. “It’s even wilder than the omega-levels. Look at the expressed regions.”

“This is…this is amazing.”

“This is disturbing.”

Tony paused. “STRs aren’t supposed to be coding, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, they are here.” He pointed out a string of repeating As, Cs, Ts, and Gs that JARVIS had highlighted. “There’s not a single non-coding region in the whole damned thing.”

“I might point out that allosomes have been increasingly unstable during analysis, Sirs.”

Clint finally spoke, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” A hologram appeared to illustrate JARVIS’ point. Chromosomes in the shapes of Xs and Ys shimmered in and out of focus. The Ys seemed to unravel and then wind tightly over and over.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” The AI didn’t have an explanation for it.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner.”

“Did you happen to run a mito analysis?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Bruce looked from Clint to Natasha’s confused face. “Even the omegas share similar hypervariable regions on their mitochondrial DNA. They all belong to the same halpogroup.” The confusion didn’t dissipate. “They share similar maternal ancestors.” JARVIS indicated that the sample did not contain DNA from any known halpogroup.

“Wait.” Tony flicked through files and brought up Banner’s own genetic profile. It earned him an annoyed glare. He ignored it and brought the Captain’s up on a separate screen. He mulled over them for a few minutes. “Molecular biology certainly isn’t my forte, but I don’t think it looks like she got her powers from some outside stimuli, either.”

“You are correct Sir. I took the liberty of comparing the unknown profile to Dr. Banner’s and Captain Rogers’ profiles. While there is similarity in literal expression, the sequences that code for it are quite dissimilar. I’ve exhausted available logical simulations in which some outside force would change the genetic code in that way. The sample does not appear to come from a mutant or mutate.”

***

Loki sighed heavily. She did not want to chat. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go back to busing tables and making drinks at the coffee shop by her apartment. She was tired of everyone always wanting to talk to her and know what was going on with her and know what she could do and what her physical limits were. She silently drank the offered tea, letting the warmth from the cup permeate into her hands.

“Onheil, please.” Drew allowed her to pretend to enjoy the generic, flavorless drink for some time before speaking again. “I’m really trying to be your friend. But I can’t do that if you won’t let me in.” Loki did not want to talk in front of everyone. She could still feel their eyes on her, hear them snickering and whispering.

She didn’t speak until they were safe within the biometrics lab.  _Tony’s been watching you_ , he said. She scanned the room for the security camera, raised her middle finger and blew a kiss before turning her back on it. If she was going do so this, she did not want Stark and the others looking at her.

“What happened between you two?” Drew pulled out the chair from her desk and the stool from the lab bench. “I’ve sort of been asking around.” Loki frowned. “I know! I know. Totally not cool. But you wouldn’t elaborate and I wanted to know—I wanted to understand why the two of you were being…used.” So she wasn’t the only one who thought Fury had ulterior motives. Or was at the very least using Loki and Steve for their entertainment value. “So what have you heard?”

“That you ran away from home, came here to escape some nastiness. Steve found you in the rain on your first night in town. He got obsessed, but it was before Cooper finally diagnosed him. Some people claim he was stalking you. Somehow it turned out that you guys live in the same neighborhood.” She paused. “He got better when he was with you, you know. Everyone noticed it. He wasn’t so tense all the time. More vocal. Smiled more often. Socialized. No one thinks it was _just_ the meds.” She shrugged. “But evidently you’ve been on-again-off-again and have been completely off ever since Stark did that whole weekend in the mountains with the Avengers and Coulson’s team.”

“Do you really want to know the whole story?” Drew nodded. “It’s not pleasant.” She didn’t expect it to be. Loki took a deep breath and steeled her nerves. She let it all go from the time Steve first made contact with her in the coffee shop, through their summer friendship turned courting, through their fights, through their reconciliations, through the weekend with the Avengers. “In hindsight, taking a man with PTSD out into the woods to play a war game was not the best idea. I think he had a flashback or an episode or something. I don’t know. Steve tried to explain it later on. I really don’t understand what goes on in his head. I never know what will affect him, what will set him off. I don’t think he really knows either.” She paused, trying to steer back from her tangent. “He was different afterward. Too firm. He went down to the target range with Banner to blow off steam. Evidently it didn’t work. It was like he was a kettle with the lid stuck on. I shouldn’t have pestered him. It only antagonized him. When he dragged me up the stairs and pushed me up against the wall, I didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid. It wasn’t as if what he did didn’t  _feel good_. But…it wasn’t him. He was so…rough. I thought if I just gave him what he wanted, what he needed, that everything would be fine. But it wasn’t. He was so cold after. I hated him for it. Hated myself for allowing it. For being compliant. Like I always have been. I rage and I destroy but in the end I allow myself to be used and punished.” Loki focused on picking apart a lump of dry, flexible white putty that was stuck to the lab bench. “He came to me later and tried to apologize and I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t stand to have him near me, to touch me. Coulson found out. I think he spoke to Steve after I rejected his apology. I’m not sure when or how she found out, but I think Romanov knows as well.” Loki was fairly sure at this point that the spider had been listening in on her conversation with Coulson. “I tried to pretend nothing happened. I didn’t want the others to know. I didn’t want to ruin their opinion of him. They’re his family…his team…they need to be able to trust one another.” And now, evidently, Fury knew. And if Fury knew because of whatever video feed was being broadcasted, Stark certainly knew. Stark couldn’t keep his mouth shut so Loki was sure Barton, Banner, and Pepper knew as well. She hated when people knew her secrets, saw the chinks in her armor. “When we got back to the city Steve tried to talk to me again. I did not want to discuss the matter further. I just wanted to be left alone.” She had shredded the putty into confetti. “Truth be told, had he not provoked me…had he just given me space,” she dared look up at Drew. The concern on the woman’s face made her ill. “I probably would not have walked away.”

Drew reached over and put a comforting hand on Loki’s knee. She realized it had been bouncing with nervousness the way Steve’s did when he was on the edge of an anxiety attack or simply just too still. “Coulson knew and he didn’t do anything about it?”

“No! That’s not what I meant. He came and talked to me, actually. Even offered me his bed so that I did not have to stay with Steve. I asked him not to pursue it. He respected my wishes.”

“And Natasha?”

“I have no idea. I never know with her. She’s infuriating.”

“I…I’m not sure what to say, Onheil.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” There was awkward silence before Drew perked up. “You need comfort food. Let’s go to Chipolte.”

“What is that?”

Drew looked at her as if she’d just murdered someone. “You’ve lived on this planet for how long?”

Loki eyed her suspiciously, “Long enough.”

“And you’ve never eaten at Chipotle.”

“I have eaten foods containing chipotle.”

“No, no. This is a travesty. Go get your coat. We’re going.”

Loki was directed to a long table along with window and instructed to guard the empty stool beside her. The place was noisy and overly warm and the lights overhead glared off the stainless steel that everything seemed to be made out of. Drew came back and placed a cylindrical _something_ wrapped in tinfoil. “It’s a burrito.”

“It’s a what now?”

“Burr-eee-toe.”

She unwrapped the foil, suspicious. All she could tell was that the whole thing was encased in a tortilla. “And I am expected to eat this how?”

“With you hands. And mouth. You can try shoving it in your ear, but I don’t think that will work as well.”

“Oh, you just scathingly funny.” Eventually, when half of the insides of the thing were scattered over the foil rather than still inside, Drew mercifully slid a plastic fork toward her. In spite of less than desirable environment and the exceedingly difficult cuisine, Loki found it _was_ actually comforting. She felt full and warm and cared for. “Drew? Do you know anything about DNA?”

She considered it for a moment. “My background is in criminalistics, not molecular bio. But I know the basics. You know, short tandem repeats and what goes into CODIS and NDIS for investigations. Why?” She wanted to know what exactly Fitz-Simmons and that furry man were looking for. “I haven’t really ever studied the X-gene. There’s never been a reason for me to. I can give you a crash course in the basics if you want, though.” That would be wonderful. “You know, when I first looked at your prints, it was more cursory. Just making sure I got usable impressions and scans. But when I really looked at them again…they’re extraordinary.”

“Patting yourself on the back?”

“No, I mean your prints, the patterns themselves.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve got a whole set of ridiculously rare patterns. They’re all tented arches.” Loki nodded; it meant nothing to her. “But the most fascinating part, is that some of them look damaged. Like stretched out or scraped over. Like when you pull a toothpick through the frosting on a cake to make a spiderweb.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her tablet. She entered passwords in several layers of security and flipped through files. “These are my prints.” They looked like swirls and loopy figures. “Not altogether amazing. I do have a trifurcation on my left ring finger, though, which is pretty freaking cool.” She entered more passwords. “These are your prints.” They looked like the loopy structures from before, but tighter, more narrow and aligned from bottom to top rather than coming in from one side or the other. They did look like someone had dragged their finger across the screen and distorted the picture. Drew’s smile fell for a moment, “Onheil, you haven’t done anything to alter your fingerprints, have you?”

“No. I didn’t even know there was anything unique about them. I’ve never given the tips of my fingers very much thought.”

Drew nodded. “Can I ask you another serious question?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I publish about this?”

“What?”

“An article. In a scientific journal. Only with your permission of course. And SHIELD’s. Technically this is all their property.” She indicated the tablet and whatever else it contained.

“I mind.” Drew frowned but did not pursue it further.

“You know what the funniest part is?” No, she did not. “In handreading or palmistry, tented arches are a sign of an intense or fiery personality.” She considered Loki for a long moment before rising from her seat and piling the remnants of their meal onto the tray. “That’s certainly you.” She grinned and went over to the trash bin while Loki gathered their belongings.

Loki had to smile. _Fire._  

***

Tony was sitting in the lab watching the live security feed from SHIELD. He'd tasked JARVIS with tracking Onheil and Steve and reporting anything interesting. He got updates from Fitz-Simmons' lab every few hours. They still hadn't made the discovery that Onheil's DNA was off the charts. Bruce had retreated to his own suite, pride bruised over the fact that no one wanted to believe that Onheil was really the Patron Saint of Crazypants. Legolas and Ginger Snaps had been gone for some time.

"Mr. Stark, I believe there is something you should see."

"Go ahead, Jarve."

The footage changed to the biometrics lab and that lovely little fingerprint girl who was always bouncing around to some album or another while she worked. He liked her. Girl after his own heart. Onheil turned toward the camera and flipped it off before blowing a kiss. So, she knew he was watching, clearly. _How unladylike._ He'd have to watch the earlier footage. Only Spangles could have let the cat out of the bag. _Ha. Bag of cats._ He listened as Onheil spilled her guts about her relationship with Steve. "JARVIS?'

"Yes, Sir."

"Destroy that footage."

"Certainly, Sir."

"Keep a ghost file. Just in case. But bury it."

"Of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	48. All Work and No Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki plow through daily rounds of training at SHIELD. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat.

Steve and Onheil settled into a comfortable routine. Medical refused to clear him to go back to sparring until his nose was completely healed and they were sure it would not set crooked, but that did not stop him from going down to the target range to observe and help or from providing a distraction when other agents or Nikolaj sparred with her.

Onheil had ridiculous aim. When he watched her shooting or throwing, he often felt like time was standing still. In the moments that she steadied her arms and took a final breath before letting arrow or bullet or blade fly, it seemed like everything was moving through molasses. She hit the center of the bull or wherever else she was being instructed to aim more often than not. When she didn’t hit where she intended, sometimes Steve felt as thought it was on purpose. Sometimes he _knew_ it was on purpose—the same way he’d learned to see when she was allowing someone to gain the upper hand in a bout. She appeared to crave instruction and discipline and structure. She would purposefully hold back from giving her all to take the time to learn what exactly they had the potential to throw at her. She trained in a completely opposite manner than she created art. Art was fluid and organic and chaotic. Training was controlled and precise.

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat every time she turned to him and grinned or turned to ask for a correction or opinion. Soon, he realized she was getting bored. She started ignoring instruction in the target room. She’d shoot patterns into the paper down the end of the lane. She worked her way through the Latin alphabet that Steve knew best. Next she blasted through Cyrillic script. After that she moved through the twisting, swirled letters of the Georgian system. Then she traced Greek letters. When she began to attempt to write things in Arabic script, he knew for sure that she was showing off. Nikolaj didn’t approve of any of it.

“I want to learn something  _new_.” She practically stomped her foot as she put the empty magazine and pistol down on the counter just slightly too hard.

“How about rifles?” Nikolaj turned to Steve and considered it for a long moment. “Not entirely different, but it’s another thing for the arsenal. Requires a little bit of a different skill set.” The first day that Steve began to teach Onheil how to handle a rifle was also the first day he was allowed to remove the bandages from over his nose. The bruising was gone. He no longer looked like a raccoon. His face still felt a little puffy, but at least the pain was manageable.

The target lanes were modified to accommodate the prone position Steve was showing her. The targets were lowered, the counters removed, mats placed on the floor for comfort. They started with a Johnson. She seemed to flounder at first. “Just watch.” She huffed and crossed her arms and allowed Nikolaj to take her weapon while she watched Steve intently for several shots. She mimicked him. She demanded the rifle back and took several shots. They weren’t perfectly on the bull, but they were certainly close enough. Steve couldn’t help but swell a little with pride. After that, they moved on to a Garand.

“Are we only going to use weapons from your war?”

“So you noticed that, huh?”

“I have.” She rapped gently on the wooden stock.

Steve shrugged, “I’m more comfortable with them. And they certainly don’t make weapons like they used to.” He paused while he was reloading his Springfield. “And if they ever let you into the field, you’ll notice that a lot of terror cells are using older weapons. Not necessarily antiquated ones like these, but older ones. They’re cheaper and easier to come by on the black market. It’s good to be familiar with whatever you might come up against.”

“ _If_  they ever let me out into the field.”

During endless rounds of sparring, Steve stood to the side and shouted things at Onheil. He did his best to distract her, even if it was momentary. “YOU LOOK VERY PRETTY TODAY!” Her head whipped around toward him, bits of her short ponytail sticking to the sweaty side of her face. The agent she was up against took the opportunity to cold cock the opposite side of her face. She crumpled to the floor and remained there for several long beats before picking herself up and rubbing her jaw. The attack that followed left the agent breathless and bruised, his lip split wide open. Steve couldn’t help but wonder which one of them she was more annoyed with.

Other times, he literally threw things at her. Sandbags, short and blunt wooden practice blades, boxing gloves, whatever happened to be in his pockets. After the first time a boxing glove bonked her softly on the shoulder when she raised her leg to plant the heel of her boot in her opponent’s gut, she was much more aware of things flying at her. Sometimes the objects stopped mid-air and dropped. There would be a shimmer of green-gold in the air like they’d hit a wall and disturbed it. Sometimes the objects exploded when they hit that invisible wall. Sometimes she caught them and used them against whomever she was fighting. When Steve chucked the ballpoint pen from his pocket toward her, intending to make her slip, it flew into her hand and she forced her opponent against the wall. Onheil drew her arm back and brought it down, stopping a mere inch from the young agent’s eyeball. “Oh God, please don’t!” That one never showed up again. Sometimes the objects got throw back at Steve. Sometimes, like with the pen, she would use whatever energetic force she was manipulating to simply catch and hurl the object.

Noise seemed to distract her far more readily than something physical. Steve took to sneaking up behind her as quietly as he could while she was stalking an opponent. He’d yell. He’d shout. He’d yell _and_ push her. She only lost her balance once. Later on in the match, when he threw a sandbag toward her, it flew back at him and exploded. He was still picking sand out of his hair and ears two showers later.

Christmas was at the end of the week. Pepper was insisting that Steve attend the party she was throwing at the Tower. It was going to be small. Just a few trusted and appreciated Stark Enterprises employees, Rhodey, the team, and Coulson if he was in town. Steve found more and more often that he felt alone even in a room full of people. Groups made him increasingly nervous. Cooper was still keeping him off his meds—just minimal doses of anti-anxieties and sleep aids. “It’ll be good for you, Steve. You need to get away from the office. And you shouldn’t be alone on Christmas. No one should.” Steve agreed reluctantly. At least there were enough rooms in the Tower that he could retreat to if he felt like he was going to explode.

A good ten inches of snow had dropped over the course of the past few days. In the afternoons, when Onheil was finished at SHIELD for the day, she went to work a short shift at the coffee shop. With the cold weather, business had picked up. The schools in the area had tried to stay open as long as they could, but today had been an early dismissal. Onehil’s cell had been ringing when she passed by his office on her way out. It sounded like her neighbors were asking her to pick Owen up and relieve Samantha’s babysitter. “Certainly. I have the night off. I’m leaving my other job right now.” When Steve walked up the block toward her building later that evening, Onheil and the two children had taken over the sidewalk out front. The little girl was squealing with laughter. He could see how red the end of her nose and her cheeks were even from this distance. There was a lopsided snowman beside the steps. Onheil sat up from her spot on the ground, snow in her hair and down the front of her, and pulled Owen down with her again. He shrieked.

“Hey!” Steve waved as he approached. Onheil sat up again and pulled herself to standing before greeting him. Their meetings were far less coldly civil than they had been. He noticed her running in the morning, but she didn’t take the same route as he did. She was still wearing the sneakers he bought her. It was something. “Medical cleared me to start up again tomorrow.” That was great. “I wanted to ask you something, though.” He looked at Owen, who was packing snow into a ball and eyeing him suspiciously.

“Owen, put that down.” He huffed and dropped it.

“Can I call you later?”

“Sure.”

Two hours later, Onheil called him instead. He forgot to breathe for a long moment when her picture—the picture he’d taken of her on Halloween—came up on his screen with the incoming call. His heart was thudding so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear her as she practically shouted at him over the phone. “Hi. Sorry. Is everything okay? I was going to call you after I finished dinner.” It was nine. He’d gotten caught up sketching a picture of the little girl in the snow and forgotten about eating.

“Yes, everything is fine. I just finally got Owen to go to bed. Sue and Reed are stuck in Manhattan so I’m staying here tonight. I figured I’d call before it got too late. That kid has hearing like no one else.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You wanted to ask me something?”

“Yeah. Um. I wanted to ask you to come to the Tower. For Christmas. I know you don’t have any family here. And I know where not together anymore…But, I guess…no one should be alone on Christmas. It’ll be the team and Pepper and Rhodes and Coulson and some other Stark people. Small. No one is doing the gift thing, so you don’t have to feel obligated for any of that. I just thought you might have a good time. And, well, I know Pepper and Tony would love to see you. And Rhodes liked you a lot—“

“Steve. Stop. You’re rambling.”

“Sorry.”

“I can’t come to the Tower for Christmas.”

“Yes you can. I’m inviting you. And Pepper won’t mind. She’ll be thrilled when I tell her you’re coming.” He paused. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I won’t be alone.”

“Onheil, don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying!” She snapped at him, quiet but still annoyed. “I will be here with Owen and Sam. Their parents will be at a party for Reed’s firm until late Christmas Eve. The following evening I will be attending a performance with Drew.”

“Drew?” Steve choked on the name. She’d moved on. She’d found someone else. She’d found someone else and she was going out with him on Christmas. How had she found someone so fast? She was so difficult. How did she let someone in? How did someone get in? Did she care that little about him that she just picked up and moved on? Did she ever really love him? Did she just say that? Was she using him that whole time?

“Yes, Drew. The woman from biometrics. She took my fingerprints.” She was going out with a woman? “She’s my friend.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed that I have an acquaintance aside from you, Steve.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just wish you would come. I’m glad you have plans though.”

“Thank you for the offer, Steve. It was very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I will see you bright and early.”

“Yeah. You better be ready.” He chuckled. “I’ve seen all your moves.”

“I’m going to kick you ass, Rogers.”

“Such language from a lady!”

“Oh, I’m no lady.” She laughed. “I must go.” He could hear a phone ringing in the background. “Thank you again.”

“No problem. Have a good night.”

She did kick his ass the next morning. He declined to use his shield. Both on the grounds that he wanted to see what she could do hand to hand and that he did not want his nose broken again. They sprawled on the floor afterward, out of breath and slick with sweat. “Tomorrow I’m going to win.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Captain.”

Christmas Eve was tense. Steve wore his cheeriest, comfiest, red cable knit sweater. Pepper had given it to him last year. It was one of those handmade things from Ireland and was incredibly warm. Too warm for the well lit apartment and roaring fire. All he wanted to do was strip and stand in front of the damned fridge for a few moments. He wasn’t sure how he made it through the evening.

“Sleep over, Spangles! It’s snowing out. You’ll turn into a Capsicle again.”

“No, it’s okay, Tony. I want to go to Mass in the morning. Thank you, though.” Pepper gave him a firm squeeze before he got into the elevator. The moment the doors were closed he pulled the sweater over his head. Sweet relief.

***

Christmas Eve with Owen and Samantha was interesting. Loki had never experienced the holiday before firsthand. She put the children to bed at their usual bedtime. After the fifth time Owen insisted he needed a drink of water, she was sure that he was never actually going to go to sleep. She was relieved when their parents finally arrived at home and freed her to drag herself back to her own apartment and collapse into bed.

Loki slept late that morning. She pulled herself out of bed at noon and stood in the kitchen eating cold left over Chinese takeout while she looked at the flyer and ticket Drew had given her earlier in the week. She had to be at the Gramercy Theater at 7PM when the doors opened. The ticket said that she would be standing for the performance. Drew had told her that if she went straight down to the theater rather than spending any time at the bar, she would be able to get a good spot near the edge of the stage. She would be meeting Drew at the venue.

“Hey!” Drew was entirely too cheery for this cold, snowy evening.

“I’m outside waiting in line. Where are you?”

“I’m inside, silly.”

“How did you get in? The doors aren’t open yet. The rude man at the door wouldn’t let me in even though it’s snowing.”

“Oh no! I’m sorry!”

“How did you get in?”

“I’m performing, silly! I thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t.” Loki sighed. “Break a leg, then.” That was what you were supposed to say to someone who was going to be on stage, right?

“Thank you! I’ll see you afterward.”

Loki headed right for the edge of the stage after she’d checked her coat. The floor filled up quickly. She couldn’t help but be slightly overwhelmed by the press of bodies around her. Everyone was chattering too loudly. Finally the lights went down and the curtains opened up.

“Oh my word.”

Individual performers came out onto the stage with elaborate props and loud music and elaborate costumes. Costumes that didn’t stay on their bodies. They were glittering, shimmering, shimmying and chaotic. Most of the dancers were women, but there were two incredibly attractive men in the show as well. Loki did not know whether to be shocked or intrigued or pleased or some combination of the three.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Miss Hedy Lucille!” There was vampy, brassy music. It was something that Steve would probably enjoy. When the curtain swung open, There was a woman with long dark curls tumbling down over her back and shoulders facing away from the crowd, bouncing her hips side to side slowly. She pressed a cane to the floor with one hand, the other up, fingertips just barely holding the brim of a bedazzled top hat. She appeared to be wearing a man’s suit. Loki thought it was called a tuxedo. The back of the coat had tails. The woman spun around on the balls of her feet in her blindingly sparkly silver heels.

“Oh my gosh. It’s Drew.”

She pulled her top hat off and came closer to the edge of the stage. She danced. She swayed. The coat came off. She danced. She swayed. The vest came off. Cufflinks. Shirt. She put her foot up delicately on the edge of a short platform in the middle of the stage and a girl who had performed earlier slowly unzipped the side of Drew’s pant legs, one then the other. Beneath the very fitted man’s suit was hiding a corset, bra, panties, and fringe around her hips as reflective as her shoes.

With most of her skin visible, Loki noticed something she never had before—even that first afternoon of offered friendship in the locker room, Drew had been nearly finished dressing when Loki stepped in and the girl always wore long sleeved blouses or a laboratory coat—Drew was covered in art. It graced her arms and shoulders and thighs and feet. Loki was not sure what she was more enthralled by—the body art, the confidence, or the general beauty of her perpetually mystifying friend.

Drew came to the very edge of the stage and began to unlace the short side panel of her glittering corset. She winked at Loki and held out the end of the ribbon to her, indicating she should pull. The ribbon came free and a triangle of skin was revealed. She went to the opposite edge of the stage and did the same with another member of the audience. After dancing for another moment, the girl who had helped her out of her pants reappeared. Drew arched her back and kicked one foot out behind her while she braced herself saucily against the wall at the edge of the stage. The girl loosened the ribbons that crisscrossed up the back of the corset. When she was finished, Drew crossed to the middle of the stage and hopped up onto the platform. She turned her back to the crowd and began to work her fingers over the hooks in the front of the garment, teasingly looking back over her shoulder every so often. She opened the corset, finally, and held it out behind herself like a pair of wings, rolling her hips and bending her knees, moving side to side and slowly down and then back up. A hand appeared from the side of the stage and caught the garment when Drew tossed it. When she turned back to the audience she was down to the glittery bra and panties, the strings of fringe jiggling around her hips and thighs. They reminded Loki of the ones she’d worn for Steve in style.

Loki knew it was nearing the end of the number when Drew bent her hands behind her back and worked her fingers over the hooks. She turned away as if suddenly bashful when she unhooked the bra all the way and slipped the straps down slowly over her arms. There was a downbeat of drums and Drew held her hand out and dropped the garment on the floor. The lights were cut. There was the whisper of Drew’s shoes as she spun around. When the spotlight came back on she was smiling gleefully, arms up in the air and one knee bent coyly. Sparkling silver hearts covered her nipples. “Can I please get a round of applause for Miss Hedy Lucille!”

Drew laughed and waved and bounced around in her happiness. Loki wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not, but Drew did not seem to mind the excited whistles coming from the audience. The curtain closed as she left the stage.

When Loki retrieved her coat, someone who worked at the venue came and tapped her on the shoulder. “Onheil Ferguson?” Yes, that was she. “C’mon, one of the performers wants you downstairs.” Loki nodded and followed. The downstairs area appeared to be a series of private and group dressing rooms. Drew poked her head out of one of the doors. She was still not dressed. Loki could not help but blush when her friend embraced her.

“How was I? Did you like it? Oh, I hope you liked it! It was my first show!”

“It was incredible. You were incredible.”

Drew squealed in excitement much in the same way that Samantha had while playing in the snow and then ushered Loki into the dressing room she shared with two other ladies. “Was it really good?”

“Indeed. I had no idea this is what I was coming to see, though.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry. I completely forgot to tell you. I thought you’d know.”

Loki laughed, “No, I did not. It’s fine. I enjoyed myself immensely. Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“I’ve been taking burlesque classes for a year. It’s so much fun!”

Loki decided she needed to take up a new hobby. All work and no play made Onheil a dull girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drew is so full of surprises, isn't she? Her performance is based in part on the opening number of Strip, Strip Hooray! when I went to see Dita von Teese perform last year. If you've never seen a real burlesque show, DO IT. It's empowering and amazing.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback!
> 
> PS: If you notice spelling/grammar/missing word issues, please let me know. I have no one proofreading this thing and I know that I'm missing a lot of errors and I will absolutely admit that I am just too lazy to fix them at the moment as I'm re-reading some of the chapters.


	49. A Little Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve experience the winter holidays. New developments from Asgard put everyone on edge.

Loki settled into a comfortable routine. In the early hours of the morning, she rose and went running. She tried to make it out no matter what the weather conditions were. Most mornings, she wore the shoes that Steve had gifted her. When the snow was particularly treacherous, she turned to her boots—if they could serve her in the battle on Jotunheim, they would serve her on the slushy, icy sidewalks and streets of Brooklyn. Every morning, in the early hours of light, when the sun had not yet burned away the clouds, she resisted the temptation to join Steve along his route when she saw him jog down the front steps of his building.

After a shower and quick inhalation of breakfast, she headed to the 4 train into Manhattan. Loki no longer went out of her way to ensure she did not get into the same car as Steve, but she didn’t go out of her way to sit or stand next to him either. He treated her appearance in the car as a happy accident. When she did come close, he took the opportunity to chatter amiably about what he wanted to work on that day or what progress she’d made. “You haven’t been into the coffee shop in a while.” Steve’s cheeks turned pink when she plopped a pound bag of coffee beans in his lap. “Figured you might be going through withdrawal.” That had been the day he shouted across the room that she looked pretty. The agent she was sparring against hit her hard in the side of the face while she was distracted. She fell to the ground, the wind gone from her lungs and her head ringing. He didn’t get another shot in the rest of the bout.

Each morning, when she arrived at SHIELD at seven-thirty-sharp, she went down to biometrics. Each morning was a lesson in biology and after winter holidays it became a lesson in burlesque as well. "Which base is this?" Drew pointed to a figure drawn on the white board. "Guanine. How do you make the tassel twirl?"

"You sort of--" Drew put her arms down to the side and bounced on the balls of her feet. "What type of base is guanine?"

"Pyrimidine. What do you do if the pasty falls off?"

"You keep going. Work it into the act like a joke or it happened on purpose. What does a pyrimidine pair with?"

"A purine. Guanine goes with cytosine."

They would continue until Loki had to be in Fitz-Simmons' lab at 0830hrs.

Loki found that she genuinely enjoyed learning from the Captain. His instruction was far different than what she received from the other agents who attempted to teach her or to spar with her. They were all about the attack. About the kill. Nikolaj seemed completely neutral, encouraging her neither to drive for the attack or back off and defend. He let her find her own flow in the rhythm of the match. The Captain was a different animal, entirely. While he showed her how to use the weapons he favored, he was willing to stay on the defensive. He preferred to let his opponents wear themselves out and then strike when it was completely necessary. He seemed to feel guilty that he'd inflicted pain afterward. Loki wasn't sure whether it was simply because he was battling someone he considered a friend or it was general to his nature. She couldn't remember quite what he'd been like after Germany. She'd been too focused on Thor. Too focused on keeping the noise out of her head and control over her body, her energy, and her magic. But what more could one expect from a man who was a symbol and who's own symbol was a shield?

Since what she had come to think of as  _the incident,_ Loki had endeavored to learn more about the Captain. The things he confessed in the darkness would not leave her alone. The tumble of familiarity and emotion clawing at her head and her heart was worse than the fear of being discovered. It was worse than the fear that obtaining the Tesseract would not-- _no_. She would not think of that. That darkness was over. She was done with it.

The afternoon that she and the Captain had finally come together once again in mock battle, he came to find her in the cafeteria. She barely heard him approach, too absorbed in the book in front of her and the warmth of the bland tea in her hands. He startled her slightly when he slid into the seat across from her. "Hey." He was grinning, not much worse for wear even after having his ass handed to him. He looked freshly showered, his hair still slightly damp and the clean scent of soap clinging to him. Loki could not help but notice that the charcoal color of his dress shirt complemented his eyes wonderfully. "Did I buy that for you?" He nodded. "Thought so. You only ever pick plaid. Or white." He rolled his eyes at her and tugged the book she was reading toward himself. " _Helmet for My Pillow_  by Robert Leckie. Boning up on American history?" Loki narrowed her eyes, unable to decide how to respond. She certainly could not say that she was boning up on  _his_  history "It's a good read. Very interesting. First-hand account." He looked at the receipt that she was using as a bookmark. "Are you reading  _all_  of these?"

_~~Helmet for My Pillow~~ _

_The Irregulars: Roald Dahl and the British Spy Ring in Wartime Washington_

_~~Now the Hell will Start~~ _

_A War to be Won: Fighting the Second World War_

_Flyboys: A True Story of Courage_

_American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in US Military History_

"Yes. I'm reading them all."

"Oh." He studied her closely and slid the book and the receipt back to her. "I'll leave you to it then." She did not stop him when he rose from his seat.

"Steve?" He paused and turned back to her. "Did you take my advice?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your art. Working with new materials. You'd be wonderful."

He smiled and nodded, "Bought myself a camera for Christmas. Haven't used it yet, though."

"Good."

The morning after she watched Drew perform on stage, Loki ventured out to wash her clothing. She was nearly finished, waiting for the drier to stop, nose buried in a book, when she heard a familiar voice. "Stalking me again, Captain?" Steve froze as he was about to put his bag on laundry down on the table beside her.

"No." He blushed hard. "I didn't even notice you."

"Sure about that? Your building has a laundry room."

"They're replacing some of the machines. It's closed."

"Sure." She rolled her eyes and his ears flushed red and he upended his bag onto the table to sort out its contents. Loki turned back to her book. She was down to the last fifty or so pages.

"How does Mr. Kyle know he's the most lethal sniper in US military history?"

"He has the most confirmed kills on record. Countless unconfirmed or unwitnessed ones."

"So the book is about a guy who just snipes people?"

"No. It is about much more. It's about what was going on here." Loki looked up from the page and pressed her fingertips to Steve's chest. "It is about how his career affected him and his family. It is about how similar paths affected his men and his friends. It is about people like you and people not like you. It is about people who have seen war and how they dealt with what they experienced. I'm not entirely sure what my opinion on the text or the man is. Much of it leaves a bad taste in my mouth, to say the very least." She removed her fingers and slipped the receipt-bookmark into the page she was reading as her dryer buzzed.

Steve gave up on sorting his clothes and just shoved everything into the same high capacity washer. Loki brought her warm clothes back to the table and began the task of folding them. Steve was doing his best to not appear to be watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Steve." She slid a short stack of clothing toward him. He put his hand on the assortment of tee shirts, the white one with the rip in the collar on top. A moment later she added a folded pair of sweatpants to the pile.

"I don't want them back."

"It is no longer appropriate that I wear them. Or have them."

"I thought...I thought we were—“

"You thought we were going to get back together?" Loki didn't think it was possible, but his face got even redder. "Steve." She softened her tone and put her hand on his arm. "I care about you. Deeply. I would not still be here—I would not have so readily agreed to join SHIELD—if I did not. But I cannot re-enter a romantic relationship with you. Not after..." She did not want to say it out loud. "I care for you. I enjoy your companionship. I respect you. I am grateful for and indebted to you for the lessons you have given me. I am bound and determined to remain your friend. But, I do not believe that I trust you enough to return to being your lover." She withdrew her hand when she felt the muscles in his arm tighten. "Yet."

Loki put her clothes into her duffle bag and zipped it shut. Steve was just standing there staring down at the table, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. He didn't look angry. He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Steve. I truly am." She left before giving him the chance to respond. She didn't want to hear it again. All he could say was  _"I'm sorry."_  She knew he was sorry. She wanted him to show her. Stepping on eggshells around her and holding back wasn't showing her. Trusting  _her_  enough to handle  _him_  would show her. She knew that on some level, Steve was afraid of her—afraid of her abilities. A healthy fear was a good thing. But he should _trust_  her not to hurt  _him_.

That evening, Loki began her dance lessons. She listened to the teacher, a thicker woman of about 40 who had clearly aged very gracefully, talk about the reasons why people attended her classes. There were people who wanted to learn how to be sexier for their significant other. There were exotic dancers who wanted to explore the more artistic side of stripping. There were people who "just wanted to see what it was all about." There were shy people who wanted to learn how to be confident in themselves. There were victims of sexual assault who wanted to reclaim their bodies. There were victims of domestic violence and abuse of all kinds who wanted to take back what was theirs, body and mind. There were people of all gender identities. There were people of all shapes and sizes. This particular group was all women, but as Loki had seen on Christmas, there were men in the class as well. Evidently "boy-lesque" was growing in popularity rapidly.

Drew elbowed her in the side and grinned and waggled her eyebrows. "You ready?" Loki, as ever, was a fast learner.

***

She put a hand up to stop him, "Before you invite me to the Tower, I have plans."

"That's great." Steve was trying his damnedest to be happy and to ignore the embarrassment that still stung him every time they spoke since the morning after Christmas.  Most non-essential SHIELD employees were on vacation until after the New Year. Steve had begun going back to the coffee shop in the afternoon to sketch. Onheil seemed to be unaware of the fact that it pained him to interact with her so casually when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and feel the warmth of her core and the chilliness of her hands at his neck. Either that or she was simply ignoring it. He preferred to think her oblivious.

"Drew has a friend who has been assigned to work in Times Square tonight. We're going to head over there after dinner and he will get us into the barricades near the building with the ball."

"Working the system?"

"Indeed."

"Lookin' for a midnight kiss?"

"Excuse me?”

“A kiss. At midnight. You're supposed to kiss someone. For luck or something."

Onheil smiled sadly, "No, I won't be looking for a kiss at midnight, Steve." She moved away for a moment to collect empty mugs off of a table and then returned to him. It was all so incredibly familiar and heartbreaking. He looked down at the boring still-life on the page in front of him and hated it. He flipped to a fresh page. "So will  _you_?"

"Will I what?"

"Get kissed at midnight?"

"I doubt it." She reached toward him and rubbed at his jaw with her thumb the way she always did when there was a smudge there. He closed his eyes and she took her hand away.

"Perhaps Red will give you a smooch."

"And perhaps Clint will put an arrow through my eye." He chuckled. His mug was empty. She asked him if he'd like another. "No, I should get going."

"You are welcome to join us, Steve."

"No, that's okay. Thank you, though. I just don't think an incredibly loud, tightly packed crowd is the best environment for me right now. Simmons and Cooper are screwing around with my meds again." Onheil nodded knowingly.

"Come to dinner with us then, at least."

Steve considered it for a moment, "Sure."

Onheil was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he walked out his front door. They walked down to the train in comfortable silence. There were no seats; the whole world was headed into Manhattan. "Perhaps we should have taken the bike." Onheil raised an eyebrow at him and winced as someone pressed close and their backpack bumped hard against her side.

"You okay?"

"Yes. I do miss riding it."

"I miss riding with you." They fell into silence again until they switched over to the A train.

"Have you started using your camera yet?"

"Yeah. But everything I take a picture of just seems lame." She laughed. "Don't make fun."

"I am not. You just look so disappointed." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Not everyone can be as fabulously talented as I am." She grinned until someone bumped her side again.

"Are you sure you're alright? Did you get hurt in training?"

"No, I didn't." She paused, straining to see out the window. "Here, let's get off. I can't stand this nonsense anymore."

Onheil's friend from biometrics was waiting for them outside the restaurant. She frowned when she made eye contact with Steve. “I thought you were joking.”

“No, why would I say I invited someone when I did not?”

Steve could feel himself blushing. He pulled his beanie off of this head and raked his fingers through his hair. It really was getting shaggy. “I don’t have to join you, if it’s a problem. I…I can head over to the Tower. I was going to spend the evening there for the ball drop anyway.”

Drew narrowed her eyes and paused in thought before saying that he could indeed join them. Onheil looked displeased that there was any question in the matter. Steve just found himself thoroughly confused. Dinner was mostly easy and lighthearted in spite of the uneasy welcome.

“So did you go to see David today?” Onheil nodded excitedly. “You sent him the drawing already?”

“I did. He made some adjustments for the placement. We only got through the outline, though. He got really worn out. Evidently it was taking more ink than he thought it should.” Drew made an _hmm_ sound and turned her attention back to the electric blue drink in front of herself.

“What are you guys talking about?”

Drew raised a brow and looked at Onheil who shook her head minutely. Drew’s eyes slid back toward Steve, “Art.” Steve knew he wasn’t going to get much more out of them. He let the subject drop. “So you’re the fingerprint expert, right Drew?”

“That’s Dr. Carter, to you.” She said it with a half smile, though her tone was sharp.

Steve choked on his drink, “What did you say?”

“That’s Dr. Carter, to you.”

“Carter?”

“Yes. Carter.”

Steve’s heart was racing. “You…you’re not…are you related to—“

“Your Agent Carter? No. I am not. Although, my father’s family is from Manchester.” Steve nodded, slightly dazed. “Captain Rogers, you don’t remember meeting my sister at Stark’s benefit? She was quite taken with you.” Steve apologized, he didn’t remember. “She was one of the winners.” Steve asked what her name was. “Ana Carter. Probably the only one there with an English accent.” Steve pointed out that Drew did not speak with one. “No, I don’t. Ana has lived with our grandmother for quite some time. Our mother walked out when she was very young. Dad passed away while I was a senior in high school. Ana was only ten, I’d just gotten into college—couldn’t take care of a child and go to school on a cashier’s salary.” Her mouth turned down slightly and the expression disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. “Sent her to live with dad’s mom. She wants to follow in big sis’s footsteps.” It was evident how proud she was of her sibling. “I told her I could probably get SHIELD to sponsor her for college, but she wouldn’t have it. Wants to make it on her own like I did—so she applied for Stark’s scholarship. And won it.” She grinned, showing all of her teeth.

Her pride was infectious; Steve couldn’t help but smile as well. “I actually do think I remember her. Blue hair, white dress?” Drew nodded. “Was that her real hair?” Another nod. “She was certainly a character.”

At the end of their meal, they stood outside the restaurant. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Onheil reached out to touch him and stopped short, drawing her hand back. “It will be fun. You will be safe with us.” Steve’s heart ached at her sincerity. All he could think of was the last time he lost control in Onheil’s presence. “No, really, it’s okay. Pepper insisted I come over. The rest of the team will be there too.” He looked over the two women standing side by side in front of him. “And I’m not dressed nearly warmly enough.” They were both wearing the heavy winter tactical pants from SHIELD. Drew was in a heavy winter coat. Onheil looked like she was just wearing a couple of hoodies, but he assumed she must have something thermal underneath. Both ladies had ridiculous, furry hats on. “You two Eskimos go have fun. I’ll look for you on TV.” They parted ways, Onheil and Drew heading into the crowds still surging toward Times Square, Steve in the opposite direction toward Stark Tower.

Pepper had kept the party small. Coulson, Ftiz-Simmons, and the team were there. It felt like a family party. Tony had already abandoned the champagne in favor of scotch. Ftiz-Simmons was giggly and bubbly in the early stages of tipsy. Clint appeared to be working his way through a six-pack of Brooklyn Lager with Coulson. Natasha was sipping champagne quietly with Pepper. Bruce was hovering as usual, but he seemed extra on-edge for reasons unknown to Steve.

They had genuine fun. “Where’s Onheil? I thought you were going to invite her!” Tony had been pressing him quite diligently about inviting Onheil over to the Tower lately. He wouldn’t say why. Steve had learned not to question things when Tony was so determined. He assumed it was simply something to do with the things he had seen in his hacked video feeds from SHIELD. “She’s down in Times Square with the woman from biometrics.” He accepted a bottle of lager, another six-pack magically appearing. “Did you know her sister was one of your scholarship winners? Ana Carter.” Tony frowned, wondering if people would have an issue with that. Pepper shrugged, what was done was done.

Coulson grinned like he’d known a huge secret and kept it to himself. “Drew was very proud. She was worried that her being a SHIELD asset would tip the odds in Ana’s favor unfairly, she wasn’t sure what direction though. So she made Ana promise not to make any direct reference to her in the application. She didn’t come to the benefit either; their grandmother flew in with the kid.”

The night passed at a leisurely pace. Steve found himself warm and content with the chatter around him. He’d brought his camera with him and made himself busy snapping photos. He rather liked one shot of Natasha—one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched impossibly high, flute hovering near her glossy red lips, pinky extended—he thought it might be the first one he’d taken that would be worth printing.

 _And in another thirty seconds, well will enter the New Year!_ Everyone gathered around the large TV screen and counted down with the announcer. When midnight hit, Tony grabbed Pepper and planted his lips firmly against hers. She pulled away breathless and flushed and laughing. Simmons placed chaste kisses on Fitz and Coulson’s cheeks. Clint clapped Bruce on the shoulder when Natasha side-eyed him before approaching and kissing Steve’s cheek. She rubbed her thumb over his skin, wiping away her lip-print.  _Auld Lang Syne_  was playing and the crowd in Times Square was cheering and waving their arms and the correspondent from the crowd was being wrapped in her boyfriend’s arms and kissed thoroughly. Steve thought he caught a glimpse of Onheil’s furry hat at the edge of the screen.

 _“Hey, Jenny, looks like that officer is certainly getting one heck of a midnight smooch!”_ Steve recognized Drew almost immediately when the camera panned over. She was gripping the officer’s coat and they were leaning into each other over the barricade that divided them. Onheil was beside them, trying her best to remain unnoticed. She hunkered down, scarf obscuring the bottom half of her face and hat obscuring the top. “Is that Onheil?” Steve nodded. He wasn’t even sure who asked. Those green eyes were too distinctive to leave any doubt. There was a baby-faced sailor beside her, trying to get her attention. She pulled her scarf down and frowned. She was wagging her finger in his face, saying something. He was turning red and trying to dissolve back into the crowd.

“Jarve!”

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“Rewind that. Enhance the audio.”

_“Who on this Earth do you think you are?”_

_“I just want a kiss!”_

_“Absolutely not. I’ve no idea who you are and you’ve no idea who you are dealing with.”_

_“It’s just a kiss!”_

_“No. My heart already belongs to a soldier and you are most certainly_ not _he. Run along, little boy.”_

“Oooh. He got burned.” Tony was laughing in the open way he only did when he was well lubricated with scotch. Natasha ran her hand up and down Steve’s back comfortingly. “Looks like there’s hope for you yet, Spangles!”

Steve retired to the guest suites on the Avengers’ floor another hour later. He was exhausted and confounded and just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He sat in bed going through the photos he’d taken over the course of the night on his laptop. Out of the dozens he’d snapped, he really only liked three. He put the computer away and laid there, body tired by mind still turning. He wasn’t sure when or how he finally fell asleep. His mind was still churning when he stepped into Saint Patrick’s Cathedral for New Year’s Day Mass. He sat near the back, listening and contemplating, but not really present. He sat and stood and kneeled and bowed his head in all the appropriate places. His stomach flip-flopped when Communion began.

Steve had not received since that awful weekend. He didn’t feel that he could. He’d gone to confession and been forgiven. He’d prayed the rosary thrice in penance. But he still felt like his soul was marked by the event. He felt like he couldn’t go to Communion until he’d gotten Onheil’s forgiveness. She may have assured him that he still had her friendship, but without her trust he didn’t—his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts.

_“Good morning!”_

_“Happy New Year”_

_“To you as well.”_

_“I’m at Mass.”_

_“I’m sorry. I’ll stop texting you then.”_ It was the first time she’d initiated such casual contact, by phone or otherwise, since they’d fallen apart. Since he’d torn them apart. There was that time she’d dropped a pound of coffee in his lap on the train but he didn’t think that counted.

_“No, it’s okay. It’s almost over. What’s up?”_

_“Can I meet you?”_

_“I’m still in Manhattan. I can meet you by your place if you’d like.”_  The congregation was still slowly making its way up the center aisle for Communion.

_“I’m in Manhattan as well.”_

_“Oh, okay. I’m at St. Patrick’s.”_

_“I will meet you there :)”_ Steve couldn’t wait for the Mass to be over. When the recessional began to play, he was one of the first people out the door.

“Hey there, stranger.” Onheil was leaning against the scaffolding that surrounded the church. “Hey.” He pulled his beanie onto his head and was surprised when she wrapped her arms around his torso in embrace. “Happy New Year.” She looked up at him and smiled, the snowflakes that were falling steadily were clinging to her eyelashes. She looked like a photograph or a still shot from a movie. “You’re going to give me a tour of Central Park. I have not yet seen it in the snow.” She disengaged herself from him and turned her body in the direction of uptown. Steve offered her his elbow and she took it, allowing herself to be led through the crowds and the snow.

“What are you so blissful about today?” Steve couldn’t help but notice the lazy smile plastered across Onheil’s face. She snorted a laugh and hopped over a puddle of slush at the corner. “I have been here for nearly a year. There has been no incident. Well, little incident.” She turned to face him more fully when they reached the opposite corner. “I feel freer than I have in centuries.” Her eyes widened for a moment and then her face relaxed back into that lazy smile, “What has _felt_ like centuries, of course.” Steve chuckled and they began moving again, her arm still looped firmly through his.

“But what about S?” Her face dropped, her brows came together in an effort to stay composed. “He will be fine. He is well cared for.”

“Do you know that, or is it just what you keep telling yourself?” Steve grasped Onheil’s chin in his hand and turned her face toward his while they waited for the next light. “Onheil, I know what it’s like to grow up without my dad. I know what it’s like to loose my mom. I know what it’s like to be alone in the world—aside from Bucky, obviously.” He couldn’t keep the accusation out of his voice. Her grip on his arm got just a little too tight.

“You know nothing about my situation.” Her eyes were forward and her teeth were gritted.

“Because you won’t tell me.”

“Because you do not need to know. My child is cared for. That is the only thing that matters and the only thing that is relevant.” Her grip tightened again, “I do not wish to discuss the matter further.” The air felt charged.

“Fine.” Her grip relaxed. The charge dissipated. Steve let out the breath he’d been holding. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for everything. Words mean nothing. Actions, Steve. Actions.”

“Sor—okay.” He shook his head. She was so infuriating sometimes. It was half the reason he loved her so much. He decided it was best to change the subject, “So what are you still doing in Manhattan this morning?”

“I went back to Drew’s apartment last night.” She resituated her arm through his more comfortably. “Her officer friend showed up when his shift was finished, though. Needless to say, I got kicked out of the bed. So I’ve been wandering around Manhattan for a while.” Steve blushed at the innuendo. “Evidently she’s wanted more out of their relationship for quite some time. She took the opportunity last night when the ball dropped.”

Steve chuckled, “We caught that on TV.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, “Saw you tell off some kid too. Whatever you said certainly embarrassed the hell out of him.” Her eyes grew wide, “Couldn’t hear what you said, though. Just saw you wagging your finger and him turning red.”

“Yes. Well. He was a little too forward and I had no interest.” Steve just smiled, keeping the rest of the story to himself. It was a small hope to cling to.

Soon enough, they’d reached the park. “Oh, Steve, it’s quite beautiful.” It was. They strolled through the lanes of hard-packed snow and ice that had taken the place of the dirt and cobblestone paths. Everything was eerily quiet save for the crunch of their footsteps. “Do you have your camera on you or did you leave it at the Tower?” They’d discussed his photographic exploits briefly over dinner. Yes, he had it. “There are certainly plenty of interesting and beautiful subjects to take pictures of here.”

“There certainly are.” She rolled her eyes at him, while he fished the camera and the lens out of his messenger bag. She took it from him and fitted the pieces together. She clicked through the photos that were already on it, she stopped at the one of Natasha that he liked. “This is rather good.” He thanked her. She pointed the lens at him and snapped a photo before letting him have the device back. “ _That_ is beautiful and interesting and dangerous and dark.” Steve blushed. It was a close-up image of half of his face. His eyes looked extra blue. There were snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes and the wisps of hair that were escaping his beanie.  His cheeks were flushed pink and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or his own awful habit of blushing around her. The white ground and heather-colored sky contrasted starkly with the main subject. “That’s the Steven I want back.” She began to walk away, further up the path, glancing back at him over her shoulder.

***

“Where the hell is Ferguson?” Fury’s open palm impacted the conference table with such a loud smack, even Thor jumped.

“She looked green when I left her. I sent her to the infirmary.” Hawkeye plunked his booted feet upon the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t do puke.”

“What the hell is wrong with her?”

“I don’t _know_. I was showing her how to use a tear gas arrow. Maybe she inhaled some.” Natasha pushed his feet off the table and they hit the floor with a _thunk_.

Steve couldn’t help the tension in his jaw. Clint’s ego had finally healed enough to allow him to begin mentoring Onheil. They made an interesting pair. They were constantly bickering. Onheil was forever correcting his posture or sneering at him—albeit jokingly. Clint seemed to crave the attention no matter what kind it was. Steve noticed Natasha was quieter. She spent more time hovering around the target range than she normally did. Steve found himself making excuses to sit in on the lessons or to find an excuse to use the range at the same time. Onheil had put the kibosh on that quickly enough. Clint had even begun edging in on Steve’s sparring time. “I want to see what she can do! I want to see if she can use the bow as a weapon too…see how she moves with it.” His eyes had glittered like he was a kid on Christmas morning. Onheil moved completely differently with Clint than she did with Steve. More dance, less battle. Their matches almost looked like a rehearsed routine. Clint shrugged, “I was a performer. Don’t you remember?” Onheil looked as graceful as a swan, fingers splayed like a ballet dancer as that mesmerizing gold-green energy rolled off her fingertips and caught the putty arrows being shot at her in the air, rendering them useless. She would smile and laugh—she would _giggle_ —while Hawkeye tried to catch her manually and she slipped from his grasp each time, leaving them both exhilarated and Clint breathless. Steve didn’t like any of it, not one bit. Especially not when he looked in on them over the video feed in Nikolaj’s office and saw them on the floor. Clint’s hips were pushed up into the air, Onheil straddling them. One of her hands was braced against his chest and the other encircled his throat, thumb pressed downward enough to make it look like Clint was having an uncomfortable time breathing. He was clawing at the front of her, looking for purchase to get her off. Her eyes were heavily lidded and a lazy smile was creeping across her lips. When Clint finally got traction against the floor, he flipped her hard. Her legs immediately wrapped around him, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Steve felt his face get hot with recollection and embarrassment and jealousy. He couldn’t look Barton in the eye for a week.

“Can we just start? We can fill her in later.” Tony was drumming his fingers impatiently against the table with one hand and flicking through files on his tablet with the other.

“I believe that would be best, Man of Iron. You may bring the Son of Ferg up to speed at a later time. I must return to Asgard soon.” Someone corrected him, saying it was Daughter of Ferg. He waved it off. Thor had been diligently going back and forth between his home and New Mexico with each tweak to the communications device that Bruce, Tony, Fitz-Simmons, and Foster were working on. He’d returned early for the final test of the latest version, claiming that there was important news concerning Loki to be shared.

“I will not mince words. Ragnarok approaches.”

“Yeah, we know. Big Viking festival. They blew a funky looking horn in York and commenced with the partying. There’s a big concert scheduled for the twenty-second.”

Thor shook is head, “No, it is no party, it is the end of times. Gullinkambi has crowed his warning. Heimdall prepares to blow his horn. We have come to believe that Loki becoming draugr has hastened the entire event. It is perhaps how he will ultimately be strong enough to kill Heimdall. Perhaps this will also be the way that Fenrir finally breaks his bonds and slays the Allfather.” Thor’s voice was gravelly as if it had been overused as of late. “We are doing our best to delay the events of Ragnarok until Loki can be found. We have taken Hel into custody so that she may not bring the wrath of the Jotun and the dead upon us. The signs have been here all along. We were blind to them, caught up in our own petty battles. Midgard is at war with itself. You are clearly in the midst of the Fimbulwinter—“

“No, were in the middle of a polar vortex or an arctic blast or something. It’s just snow. And the only filibusters have been in Congress.”

Thor narrowed his eyes at Tony, “Stop interrupting. This has great importance.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I pray you prepare. I also hope that this final communication device will work more reliably than the last. I cannot protect the realms if I must keep traveling back and forth for this.” The brick wall of a man looked truly tired.

“Thor. You put your niece in prison.” Steve spoke quietly.

“She is not of my blood!” His voice boomed and he rose from his seat. “She is not.” He put his head in his hands and his shoulder shook when he sank back down into his chair. It was plain to everyone that he was trying to justify the action and that he wasn’t proud of the steps he’d taken. “I must protect the realms. I am the acting King of Asgard. It is my duty.”

“Odin is still napping?”

“Yes. The Odinsleep persists.” He barked out a laugh and raised his head. “I almost think he is doing it on purpose.”

The God of Thunder left several hours later, a device that looked like one of those Bluetooth things that made people look like they were talking to themselves stuck in his ear.

***

The training room that Loki occupied practically daily seemed to have become her own. She never saw anyone else using it. Occasionally there were other agents in the target range, but it was less and less often as Barton began to show her the intricacies of his various arrows. She’d been impressed when she’d seen him use them in battle and she was no less impressed to see them used close up.

They were at the target range when she felt a distinct change in the atmosphere. The building seemed to tremble and she should hear the crack and rumble of the thunder even with no windows to let the sound in. The arrow she let loose went nowhere near the target. When it struck the wall, it was nowhere near the target, let alone the bull. “You okay?” Gas began to release from the arrow. Loki started to pull her respirator off, “No, it’s—“ Clint stopped her and shoved it back down over her face. “It’s the thunder. I hate thunder.” The vent overhead kicked on and began to suck the noxious fumes up and away from the range. Barton pulled her out the door before he took off his own respirator and allowed Loki to remove her own. “You look terrible. Did you breathe any of that shit in?” Loki shrugged. She just wanted to get out of here. Or at least get to some spot that Thor would not have reason to go to. The Hawk studied her for a moment. “Get your behind to the infirmary. Do you know where it is?” She shook her head. A man who appeared to be the poor man’s version of Agent Coulson passed them in the hallway. “Hey! You! Take Ferguson to the infirmary.” The man hesitated. “Now!” Loki found herself whisked away.

She’d heard the announcements for the Avengers and herself to report to a particular conference room for a vital update on _Project Z_. That had been Stark’s idea. He felt any important mission needed a catchy name. She did find it humorous after she’d read about what exactly a zombie was in relation to what Thor believed she’d become.

When she had finally assured the nurses that she was quite all right, she retreated back down to the combat room. She had no intention of going to that conference room. She searched the closets for a hanging bag and hoisted it up herself. Steve had brought a radio into the room at some point over the course of their now months of training, she turned it on and cranked the volume up so that she could credibly deny hearing any further announcements about _Project Z_.

She wrapped her hands the way Steve has shown her and slipped the gloves over them. She stood in front of the bag, bouncing on the balls of her feet to the beat of the music.

_I don’t look for trouble, but trouble looks for me. And it’s been waiting around corners since I was seventeen. They say, “Here comes a hurricane, Trouble is her middle name!”_

She hit the bag lightly, not wanting to destroy it—right away at least. The gloves made a _patpatpatpat_ sound against the leather surface. Bored with punching, she added walloping kicks to the mix. _Smack!_ Went her shin against the solid side of the bag.

 _I just want to live a quiet life._ She picked up her speed. _Trouble is my name you know._ She was vaguely aware of the door opening and closing. _They say that, “You got so many sides.” I’m a Gemini, but I don’t look for trouble, trouble looks for me._ She assumed it was either Barton returning or Nikolaj come in to correct her form. She knew he watched from his office when he was not physically present. _Never been one of the herd._ She continued what she was doing; ignoring whatever presence was there. _People say I am heartless. I’ve just learned to use my heart less._

“Miss Ferguson.” Loki tensed when she heard Fury’s voice behind her. “You’ve missed a rather important meeting.”

“I’ve only just returned from the infirmary. Your meeting was over by the time I left.” She declined to turn around. She could see the Captain and the Hawk circling to her side. She would not have any of them see her ruffled. She worked through every exit strategy she had come up with in her explorations of the building. Simply disappearing would be the quickest and safest, but they’d surely have her apartment swarmed within minutes. Escaping on foot and then disappearing would give her more time to collect some essentials before she had to find a new place to hide. She liked the snow. Perhaps she would go to Finland. Or Jotunheim. Would Thor think to look for her there? She wasn’t sure. That’s what this ambush was about, right? They’d finally put the pieces together. They were going to throw her in that cell. Oh, how she wished she’d made her way down into the bowels of the building to see it before now. Maybe if she’d seen it before construction was completed, she could have figured out what its weak points were and she’d be able to escape.

“Miss Ferguson.”

She turned slowly, “Yes, Director Fury?”

He raised his arm and squeezed the trigger of the pistol he was holding. The bang echoed through the room. Everything moved in slow motion for Loki. The sharp intake of breath from Steve and Barton was exaggerated and drawn out. She barely registered that the bullet was hurtling straight toward her forehead.

***

Steve couldn’t understand what had just happened. Natasha was standing in the doorway looking horrified. The color had drained from Clint’s face. Fury had just fired a gun at Onheil.

But she wasn’t dead.

There had been the briefest shimmer of green-gold as the bullet impacted her forehead. It simply bounced off of her skin and hit the floor with a soft _clunk_ against the mat. The radio was still blasting beside him, so Steve fumbled for the volume or the off switch or something. The room fell quiet.

“Thought so.” Onheil visibly gulped. “Ferguson. Barton. Come with me.” Fury turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Loki is working out to is "Trouble" by Neon Jungle.
> 
> There was a request to see some jealous Steve, so there was a taste here. I promise there will be more in the next chapter! Someone also mentioned that Clint/Loki was their BroTP, I hope that person enjoyed their interactions.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I'm so sorry it took so long to get posted. I will do my absolute best to get the next one out with less of a gap in time.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	50. If You're In... Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes some decisions, Steve isn't sure they're the right ones.
> 
> Part one of a two-chapter event. Shared in a series of flash-backs and flash-forwards.

Loki couldn’t help but cry when the Captain came. He was glorious in his wrath and wrapped in the colors of his flag. He slid the shield off of his arm and onto his back. “You came for me.” Loki rushed into his arms and the Captain wrapped them around Loki’s body. They stayed that way for a moment, standing on the steps in the soft glow of the street lamps and the barely visible stars in the German sky. The Captain pushed him away, holding him at arm’s length and fingering the lapels of his coat. “Of course I came for you. I’m broken without you.”

“You are broken  _with_  me.”

“I’m  _more_  broken without you.” He smiled sadly and Loki barked out a laugh.

The Captain bushed the tear rolling down over Loki’s cheek away with his thumb and pressed their lips together.

Loki was surviving on a steady diet of fantasy and pain. She was doing her best to shield Barton. She turned her face toward him; there was a fresh contusion on his cheek. His foot looked a little worse every day in spite of her efforts. She didn’t think that he would lose it though. Yet. There were times that she simply did not have the energy to keep them away from him and she hated herself for it. Her magic seemed hell-bent on doing what it wanted and working to keep her own body healing rather than devoting itself to protecting and healing the Hawk. She _needed_ to protect him. She knew that he was her only chance to get out of there. He was her only chance at getting back into the Captain’s arms in life rather than in dreams.

***

“What the fuck just happened?” Clint was the first to speak. Loki pulled off the gloves she was wearing and bent down to pick up the bullet that Fury had fired at her. She touched her forehead and her fingers came away with a small spot of bright red blood. She certainly hadn’t been as prepared to be shot at in that moment as she had the last time she came to Midgard. The horror was dissipating from Natasha’s normally impassive countenance. The Widow backed out of the room, eyes narrowed. Loki could hear her calm, measured footsteps fading down the hallway toward the elevator bank that would take her to the laboratory floors. Steve was beside her saying something, she could barely hear him. When he put his hand on her shoulder she nearly jumped out of her skin. She blinked, trying to focus on his mouth, what words his lips were forming.

“Clint, can you go get the first aid kit out of the closet? Onheil,” he gripped her shoulder a little tighter, “Onheil. Are you okay? You’re bleeding.” She couldn’t find words to answer him. He moved her toward the bench along one wall and made her sit. Barton was opening the first aid kit. “I…I’m fine, Steve. I’m fine.” He was pressing gauze to the nick on her forehead. It was pointless, it was just a surface wound, and it would be healed in a few moments. She let him tend to her regardless; she knew it would make him feel better. “Onheil, you’re not fine. You just got shot.”

“No I didn’t.” She turned her hand palm up and opened it, showing him the bullet that she picked up off the floor. She closed her hand and put it back down in her lap when she realized it was trembling. “Technicality. Clint, can you take care of her for a minute?” Clint nodded and took over the job of applying pressure to Loki’s forehead. “This really isn’t necessary.” Steve ignored her and stormed out of the room, heading in the direction that Fury had gone.

***

“Captain Rogers, I believe I requested Ferguson and Barton’s presence, not yours.”

“With all due respect, Director,” Steve slammed the office door behind himself, “What the fuck was that about? You could have killed her!”

“But, I didn’t.”

“You used a firearm against an unarmed woman with no warning.” He felt his face get hot and knew he was probably as red as a tomato. He knew he was teetering on the edge.

“You can hardly call her unarmed, Captain.”

“You’re right. You can hardly call her unarmed. But that doesn’t matter!” He slammed his palm down against the desk he was standing in front of.

“If you’re quite finished, Captain, I believe I have important business to attend to. I have two agents that need to be briefed on an upcoming mission.” He indicated the door. It was cracked open; Onheil and Barton were peering around the edge.

***

Loki sighed heavily as Barton pressed the butterfly closure to her forehead. “This is truly unnecessary, Agent Barton.”

“I’m Agent Barton again? I thought we were on a first name basis. I let you beat me every once in a while, you call me Clint.” Loki rolled her eyes and Barton gathered the garbage off the floor. She was still gripping the bullet.

Loki stood on shaky legs and moved toward the door. “We’ve been summoned, Clint.”

The Hawk moved himself between Loki and Fury as they stepped into the office. “Ferguson, Barton, have a seat. Captain, I believe that is your cue to exit.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Then make yourself seen and not heard.” Steve stood behind Loki’s seat. She allowed her body to relax slightly, back leaning against his thighs over the top edge of the chair. “We’ve had some intel and I believe that your talents would be better suited to be used in the field than wasted here in a training room.”

Clint’s body was angled as if he was prepared to dive in front of Loki. “But Thor just finished telling us that the world was going to end.” Loki felt like the tension in the room was thick enough to cut. She added her own palpable charge to the air for good measure.

“I’ve got no quarrel with you, Agent Ferguson.”

“An ant has no quarrel with a boot, Director. And you did just attempt to murder me.”

Clint’s breath hitched audibly in his throat. Fury narrowed his eye before glossing over the statement entirely. “It was simply a test. To see if you were ready. I didn’t think you’d be hurt at all, to be honest. But I do think you’re ready.”

"A test? You could have killed her! You almost _did_! What is _wrong_ with you?" Loki put a hand over one of the Captain’s.

”Can we just get on with this?”

“Of course.” Fury’s expression changed and he was all business once again. The Captain’s hands were on her shoulders, rubbing the blades comfortingly as if he was trying to massage a knot out after a particularly rough bout. She wasn’t sure which one of them he was actually trying to comfort, though. Fury didn’t bother to make his noticing the action and the allowance subtle. “Captain, seeing as you’re here, you may actually be useful in this briefing. Remember the weapons shipment that went missing last year? We think it’s turned up again. It also seems that it wasn’t any ordinary weapons shipment, like we’d initially thought. Looks an awful lot like someone has developed their own version of  _Phase 2_.” The Captain’s grip on Loki’s shoulders tightened and relaxed. Clint tensed. Loki simply raised a brow. “The intel that Natasha’s contacts have been feeding us have led us to believe that the weapons made their way to Istanbul and are looking to continue their journey into Russia, possibly.”

“Then why do you need either of us? Wouldn’t it make more sense to continue using Natasha and the Special Ops team she put together?” Clint’s brows came together in confusion.

“Natasha’s become too recognizable.” He opened a file folder and pushed it toward their side of the desk. There were pictures of the weapons in question and some kind of graphs to go along with each one. “And a regular person wouldn’t be able to handle this kind of fire power if things got messy.”

”So send me in. I’ll take Banner and Stark with me. We thought it was HYDRA or Mandarin—the three of us would be best equipped to handle them head on, especially if these are really like _Phase 2_.” The Captain’s voice cut through the room.

“The energy signatures that we’ve detected coming off of the ammunition stockpile are similar to the radiation that Octavius’ tritium gave off right before it went critical. Maybe Banner would survive a blast, but certainly not you or Stark.” The Captain didn’t see his point. “ _She_  has some kind of energy field that she can call up fairly quickly at will.  _You_  don’t. You’re exposed and breakable. She proved that when she shattered your face.”

“She broke my nose.”

“She shattered your goddamned face, Rogers, would you like to see the X-rays? Did you even bother to ask why medical kept you out of commission for so long? Why they kept repeating the X-rays? They weren’t trying to irradiate your brain. They were tracking the bones stitching back together, making sure you didn’t wind up looking like you’d been run over by a tank.” Steve’s thumbs stopped working on her shoulder blades. He grew silent.

“So what would you have me do, Director?”

“You and Barton are going to infiltrate the power structure. We’re still working out the kinks, but we need to stop the shipment from moving before it reaches Russia.”

Natasha’s voice came from behind, “What’s in Russia?”

”Red Scull. Maybe. We’re not entirely sure. Some reports say it’s a woman.” Fury’s eye flicked up to the Captain and then back down at Loki. “We think the man calling the shots in Istanbul is Crossbones.”

***

“Wait! Wait!” Tony was playing with power levels on the screen in front of him. “I think we’ve got audio!” His hands pressed the headphones more closely to the sides of his head.

“Do you have a GPS lock yet?”

“No, still no exact location. JARVIS is doing his best.” Tony tapped on a few icons and pulled the jack for the headphones out. The room filled with the sounds of weak, shaky whistling. Steve felt as though he was going to be sick. He sat down hard on the floor.

“Steve?” Natasha crouched down beside him. “Steve, what’s wrong? Do you need Cooper? Simmons?”

His vision clouded and his eyes stung with the salt of the tears filling them. He sang along quietly to the tune of the whistling. “Who’ll rise or fall, give his all for America? Who’s here to prove that we can? The star-spangled man with a plan.” The whistling was cut off with the sound of shriek. The bile forced its way up the back of his throat.

***

Natasha didn't seem pleased that Fury was giving the mission to someone else. "I've been pulling that intel for months. I know this case like the back of my hand. It makes the most sense to send me in."

"No, I need an unknown face. I need a fresh perspective. And I need someone that's not going to be compromised by their feelings or loyalties." His eye flicked to Clint. The slightest blush appeared across Natasha's cheeks and disappeared just as quickly. "And if they're captured for some reason, I need someone who can protect themselves; and who can possibly extend that protection to someone else. Crossbones is making a name for himself with torture and brainwashing. Do you not remember that or are you choosing to appear completely ignorant?"

"Why don't I just go in solo?" Clint settled slightly into his chair, still angled like he was ready to spring into action.

"Don't be foolish. This is not a one-man mission. Not if we send you in with the cover we’re banking on."

"So you're going to send in a man who spent days with an insane demi-god from outer space inside his head to deal with someone who likes to brainwash and torture?" Natasha made an apologetic face at Clint.

"That's precisely why I want him there. He knows how it feels. It's still fresh. He'll see what's happening, hopefully resist it."

"I don't mind." They all turned to Loki as if they'd forgotten she was in the room. The Captain told her she didn't have to go. She could choose to opt out of the mission. It was more important to have her here preparing for Ragnarok and a super-zombie invasion. "No, Captain. I'd like a chance to prove my usefulness." Her thought was that if she could complete the mission satisfactorily and bring Barton home safely, the odds may tip in her favor. At this point, she had no illusions that she would not eventually be discovered. It was a matter of  _when_  rather than  _if_. Escape would just mean they and the forces of Asgard would give chase. She'd rather force them to see her as an ally, make it difficult for them to hand her over easily, make them feel uneasy and conflicted. And if they all were so determined that Ragnarok was coming—and it didn’t—then surely that would mean something as well.

"I think you should take a couple of days off and think really seriously about this, Onheil." Steve's voice was full of concern. She looked up and back at him and said that she would. "I'm sure Director Fury won't mind. Especially since he just willfully endangered your life." The look Steve gave the director would have certainly been deadly if looks could kill. Loki rose from her seat.

"Where are you going, Ferguson? You still need to be briefed on the Loki situation."

"Is he here?" No, he wasn't. "Is there anticipation that he will be here soon?" No, there wasn't—whatever Thor may think. "Then consider me briefed." She took Steve by the hand. "Come, Captain. You will be accompanying me home." She paused at the door. "I mean no offense if I accept this mission, Agent Romanov. Agent Barton, I dearly hope that you trust me enough to work with me. And I thank you for today's lesson." She pulled Steve out the door behind her and did not stop until they reached his office and that door was closed as well.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did he shoot me?" She had an inkling as to why. She did not want to say it out loud. She hoped he didn't notice how she was trembling—whether it was with fear or anger she was not sure.

"I don't know. I really don't know." He hesitated for a moment. When she did not resist, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. "I'm so sor—" He caught himself before the apology was fully out. "I should have protected you."

"No, Steve. You could not have. You should not have. You would have been injured." She leaned back slightly to look at him. "I am sorry I shattered your face. I did not mean to."

He smiled softly. "Do I look shattered? Don't worry about it."

Loki's eyes swept across the room. His helmet was resting on top of the filing cabinet behind his desk. "You rode to work today?" He looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Do you have an extra helmet?" He grinned and nodded again.

***

Loki did take several days to think. She returned to her old habits and routines. She worked at the coffee shop in the morning, served Steve a cup, black-no-sugar, in the evening when he returned to Brooklyn from work, and painted at night. She used the time not to give thought to Fury’s proposed mission—that she was decided firmly on—but to work through what Thor could possibly be doing to prepare for Ragnarok. She thought that whatever she could think of herself would most likely be worse than anything he could actually do. She did think it odd that she had not heard from Hel in the midst of this lunacy. She jumped at every noise, rushing to her bedroom window, hoping that the magpie would appear. At the end of the week, she attended the dance class with Drew as usual. The instructor approached the two of them afterward, “Have you given any thought to the showcase in February?” Both Loki and Drew responded in the affirmative, they would certainly participate. Loki already had a dance planned. She hadn’t been so eager to try something new in quite some time. It had been far too long since she stretched her legs and tested her powers of persuasion and seduction rather than just her powers for force.

Every time she placed a mug down in front of Steve, he asked her if she had really thought about it. She responded that she was still thinking. She knew he was concerned. She knew he didn’t want her to go. She didn’t want him to try to talk her out of it.

The morning before she was set to return to her regular schedule at SHIELD, Steve appeared in the coffee shop after Mass had ended. He approached the counter timidly, a motorcycle helmet clutched in each hand. “Have you ever been to the beach?” Yes, she had been to Coney Island once with him, did he not remember? “Nah, I mean down the shore, Jersey.” No, she had not had the occasion. “Let’s go. When your shift is over. We could take the train, but I thought you might like to ride.” She was well aware that he most likely just did not want to take the train. She assumed it would be a regular one, not the subway. He was always uneasy when the sky was visible.

“Isn’t it a bit cold for the beach?”

“Yeah, but I don’t mean to go swimming. Just to walk, to get away from everything. It’s really beautiful in the winter.”

Loki hesitated a moment, not quite sure what Steve’s intentions actually were, “Alright.” Steve’s face broke into a grin. He practically skipped out of the shop after leaving a helmet with her. At the end of her shift, he was waiting outside. He’d attached the sidecar to the bike, but it was clear that he had no intention of allowing Loki to ride in it. It was packed with a small cooler and several tightly rolled blankets. He was smiling sheepishly, sitting sideways on the seat, holding his helmet in his hands. “You dressed warmly enough?” She nodded, it was practically subzero out, and so she was dressed more warmly than she usually did. The cold had never seemed to bother her much, anyway.

Steve pushed his helmet down on his head and clipped it under his chin before climbing onto the bike. Loki zipped her hoodie and leather jacket before doing the same and climbing on herself. She situated herself as physically close to Steve as she possibly could, soaking in his warmth and wrapping her arms around his torso. He waited until her fingers were locked together, “You ready?” She squeezed tighter in response and he revved the engine to life.

The two hours it took to reach the shore seemed to fly by on the back of the motorcycle. Loki’s legs ached when they finally reached their destination and got off. “I thought we were going to the shore?”

“We are. I thought we might stay the night, go back to the city in the morning.” Loki narrowed her eyes; he had not mentioned that was part of the plan. “I didn’t think you’d say yes if I told you.” She gave him a withering look and glanced up at the quaint, weather-beaten house Steve had parked in the driveway of. “I just don’t want to ride another two hours in the cold tonight! I promise, that’s all.”

“Fine then. Where is the water?” Steve gestured up the street. The boardwalk and the water were about ten blocks away. Steve fished the keys out of his pocket and opened the garage to steer the bike inside. He took the helmet from Loki and took the cooler and blankets out of the sidecar, handing her two of the rolls. He tucked two under his arm and gripped the handle of the cooler, offering her his free elbow, “Shall we?”

Steve was right; the beach was beautiful in the winter. The water was grey and choppy and the sky was threatening looking. It felt like walking into a black and white photograph. They picked a spot to put their things down and then set to walking slowly up and down the edge of the water, running from the edge of a wave whenever one threatened to roll over their feet. “Have you given real thought to this mission, Onheil?” Steve’s face was full of concern. “You really don’t need to say yes. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. You can stay in New York and keep training. You can meet Thor, he can tell you more about what you’ll be up against.”

“I have given it serious thought. I’ve made my decision and I’m sticking to it.” Steve closed his eyes and pulled his beanie farther down over his ears like he was trying to block out what she was saying. “And I’ve no desire to meet Thor. He sounds rather self-important.”

“Onheil—“

“No, Steve. I can do this. And Clint won’t let anything happen to me, you know that.” He had no choice to admit that she was right.

“I’m worried about this whole Ragnarok deal, though. I can’t decide if I think it’s real or not. A lot of what Thor said made sense. The wars, the winter—it fits if you squint. If the people from Norse myths turned out to be real, I guess the events they prophesied could too.” Loki didn’t respond. “I don’t like the way Thor is handling the whole thing, though. He put his niece in jail to avoid a war with her people.”

Loki stopped dead in her tracks, nearly making Steve trip with his own forward momentum with her arm linked through his, “He did _what_?” Her tone was harsher than she’d meant it to be.

“His niece—he put her in jail. Although, I guess since Loki isn’t technically his brother, she isn’t technically his niece.” Loki scoffed. Steve raised a brow but didn’t comment. “He said she was supposed to start a war with an army of giants and dead people. Then there was something about a boat made out of fingernails. Which is gross. And doesn’t seem like it would be very structurally sound.” He shook his head and pulled Loki into motion once again, heading back toward where they had left their things. They were the only ones out on the sand. “Anyway, he said that he took her into custody to try and stall the whole thing. At least until he could find Loki.”

Loki stayed silent; trying to process what Steve had told her. Her first instinct was to walk Yggdrasil’s roots and go to her daughter—find her and free her. Perhaps she could come to Midgard and hide as well. She’d been distant all of Hel’s life, but now would be the perfect time to close the gap. Fuck the dead. Let them govern themselves. Thor had gone too far. Did he ever think that perhaps his actions were what would drive Hel to align herself with the Frost Giants?

Steve wrapped a blanket around Loki’s shoulders and guided her to sit on the two that he’d laid out before wrapping himself up and opening the cooler. He passed her a sandwich wrapped up in foil and a bottle of water. “I’m not sure that I have much of an appetite. Steve frowned and asked if she was okay. “Yes, I am fine. Just…lost in thought.”

“Are you reconsidering the mission?”

“No. I am thinking about Ragnarok.”

“You know, I really don’t think that Loki is a zombie.”

“You think him dead?”

“No, I don’t, actually. I think he’s alive. But I don’t think he’s going to do anything. I don’t think he’s going to cause the end of the world.”

“Why?”

“There was something about him, after Hulk smashed him. He was different. He was quiet, but it wasn’t…menacing, like it had been. He didn’t look like he was coiled too tightly. He seemed…exhausted. And relieved.” Steve unwrapped half of his own sandwich and took a bite, thinking while he chewed. “Maybe whatever power came from that staff—from the Tesseract—that let him control Clint and Selvig was controlling him too. Maybe being smashed was the cognitive recalibration he needed.” Loki asked him what that meant. “He got hit really hard in the head. Knocked whatever extra was lurking in there out. Just like when Natasha hit Clint.”

Loki and Steve ate in comfortable silence, though the gears in her head ceased to stop turning. Eventually, the wind became uncomfortable as it whipped off the water and over the sand. “I’ll clean up and we can head back to the house?” Loki nodded. She rose from her seat and wandered near the water, blanket still about her shoulders. She fished in her pocket for her agency phone. She waited for voicemail to pick up, hoping it would. “Clint? If you are in, so am I.” She pressed the end call button and looked out over the water, trying to reach out and feel the realms around her. She knew it could be possible—if Heimdall could see things then she certainly could—but it appeared her magic didn’t extend that far, for the moment at least.

Steve came up behind her and put his arm around her shoulders, “You ready?” She was, she turned toward him, intending to walk back up toward the boardwalk. He stopped her, holding her in place, his hands around her upper arms. “I have to tell you something.” He looked conflicted. “I sort of lied.”

“Thor did not throw his niece in a cell?” Not that. “You do think Loki is a zombie?” Not that either.

“New Year’s. I…” He chewed his lip. “I heard what you said to the sailor. About…about your heart belonging to a soldier. I…I really hoped you were talking about me.” His eyes were large and hopeful.

“I was.”

“So where does this put us?”

“It does not put us anywhere. I never stopped loving you. But it doesn’t change how I feel.” She thought Steve might cry. “Is this why you brought me here?”

“No. I promise, it’s not. I thought coming out here would be nice, that’s all. I thought it would help you really clear your head and think seriously about Istanbul.”

Loki looked at him hard and ran her fingers over his jaw, “I never stopped.”

“Neither did I. I fucked up. And it was my own fault. I shouldn’t have done what I did. But I can’t take it back. I can only hope that you can forgive me. That I can earn you back.” He looked down at the sand.

“Steven.” He looked back up at her and she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips lightly to his. “I do.” She let their foreheads touch, and rubbed her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “I’m just not ready.” After a long moment she pulled away. “I think that if you can trust me to know my limits—and yours—and to make the right decision about Istanbul, that perhaps would be a step in the right direction.” She pulled away, “Come, let’s go back to the house. Your face is frozen.”

He seemed to wake from a fog, “It’s your hands.” He clasped them between his own and rubbed her fingers. “Onheil, you’re like a corpse. Doesn’t that hurt?” She shrugged, she hadn’t noticed. He bundled her more tightly in the blanket around her shoulders, she stopped him before he unrolled his own to put around her as well. They walked briskly back to the house. They spent the night watching movies from the cabinet under the TV and playing cards. “Who’s house is this, anyway?” It belonged to the family of one of the guys from Steve’s sculpture class; it was their summer home. “You like that class.” He did. “You studied art.”

“Yes, before the war. I’d started art school.” Steve smiled in that soft way he did when he was remembering something from before the ice that brought him particular pleasure. She wanted to keep talking about anything but Ragnarok and Thor and Asgard and the undead and Hel and ships made of fingernails. If she allowed herself to focus on any of it she would make foolish decisions. She needed to trust that Hel could take care of herself.

“So go back.”

“What?”

“To art school. Go back. Proceed with your education.”

“That’s foolish.”

“No, it is not. You enjoy learning. You love your art. Do you not want something more from life than to simply be a soldier following orders?”

He frowned at her and his grip on his cards distorted their shape. “I’m not just a soldier following orders.”

Loki shot him her own frown. “Are you sure about that? Perhaps during your war, no. Perhaps even not during the battle against Loki. But now? You’re just going through the motions.” She put her hand on his cheek, “Do you not want to do something that is purely for you and no one else?”

“Why are you always right?” She laughed and placed her cards down, declaring herself winner and chooser of the next movie.

Loki woke with the sun. She and Steve had slept in separate rooms, which was all fine and well to Loki. The art she was having etched into her flesh was not yet finished. She did not want anyone to see it until it was. And she’d no intention of sleeping in the clothes she’d worn all day.

The ride back to Brooklyn seemed to take double the time that the ride down the coast had. Perhaps it was because she found herself not actually wanting to leave, not wanting to go back to that world. They went directly to SHIELD.

“Agent Ferguson.” Loki bristled at the sound of Fury’s voice when she emerged from the locker room. “I’ve heard the good news from Barton. We’ll get started on a new round of training as soon as you get done with Simmons.” Loki wondered what that could possibly mean?

“Oh, no, Captain Rogers. We don’t need to wire you up. I’m not doing a full kit on Onheil, either. Just neuro and cardiac.” Loki stepped into the lab and pulled her tee shirt off. A week into her training she’d learned that wearing a tank beneath would save everyone from bashfulness. She’d never seen such blushing from so many people at once as when Steve and Fitz-Simmons were in her presence while she was having sensors placed on her bare skin. She almost expected some level of prudishness from the two academics, but Steve needed to get over it. He’d seen her in far more compromised positions then in a brassiere sitting on a laboratory table. “So do you know what’s going on then?” Simmons began to place the white dots onto her forehead and chest. She nodded but said she wasn’t allowed to give the game away.

Loki walked down to the usual training room on her own, Coulson pulled Steve away in the hall. There was a table and chair in the middle of the room. The spider was leaning casually against one wall. “I take it I’m to be interrogated?”

Natasha looked impassive, “Have a seat.” Loki sat. “Comfortable?” Not particularly. “Too bad. You’ll be here a while.” Loki felt cool metal clamp tightly around her ankles and shins. Natasha opened a closet and retrieved a pair of manacles. She approached Loki and looked down at Loki’s hands resting on the tabletop. Loki offered her hands in mock supplication. It was nothing she could not free herself from if the need arose. There were no etched runes. She could sense no enchantment.

***

Loki sat at the table as she had day in and day out for the past several days. “What are your intentions here in Istanbul?” She said nothing, only smiled and batter her eyelashes demurely. She had half a mind to ask him where he learned how to begin a line of questioning. With each question she simply whistled the tune that had become her safety net a little louder. The man in front of her lunged forward and grasped her throat, his large hand easily wrapping around its circumference. Loki could only laugh as he applied more pressure and began to cut off her air.

***

Natasha pulled a chair over to the opposite side of the table. “What are your intentions with Agent Barton?”

“What are _your_ intentions with Agent Barton?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow but disregarded the remark. “He’s rather taken with you. Says things are quiet around you. The noise in his head stops. Do you know why that is?”

“I couldn’t imagine. I rather think I aggravate everyone else here. Perhaps since he is always aggravated, I have a calming affect.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Red.” Loki knew the nickname annoyed her. It was the singular reason she used it.

“If you hurt him, if you even think about hurting him, I’ll kill you.” Gee, where hard she head that before?

“Natasha.” Coulson’s disembodied voice floated into the room. “Stick to the script, please.” Loki couldn’t help but grin at Coulson’s scolding tone.

Natasha’s line of questioning consisted mainly of prying into Loki’s personal life. She could swear the spider had been fed information she’d shared only with Steve or that ridiculous head doctor they insisted on making her visit. He’d attempted to force her to discuss _the incident_ several times. She flat out refused, often becoming mute when he approached the subject. Finally she’d told him that if he wished to know what had happened he only needed to review SHIELD’s security footage. She was sure that it would be easy enough to find a recording of the day she had confessed everything in biometrics. “May I ask, Agent Romanov, what the purpose of having me restrained is?” She shrugged, “Atmosphere, I suppose. Or maybe I just like making you uncomfortable. You came to New York for freedom, no? Learn to appreciate it.” After several hours of giving up nothing, the spider declared she was going to lunch and walked out. Loki held no illusions that she would be freed from her restraints.

***

Days went by watching Onheil subjected to various interrogation techniques. Today she was sitting at the table, alone. They were trying to break her. Once again she was bound like the first day with Natasha. The lights in the training room were out. Steve could see her clearly on the night-vision feed. Her hands were clasped behind her head, her posture almost bored. They’d been alternating between turning blindingly bright lights on and blasting harsh metal music in the room, sometimes a combination of the two. He knew they were trying to break her. It was nearly eleven at night; they’d been at it since nine that morning. She looked exhausted but seemed determined not to let them see her sweat. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little proud of her. He couldn’t help but laugh when they cycled through the four songs they had at hand and she began to sing along to the bursts of music, no matter the length of the segment.

“How’s she holding up?” The music was playing. She was banging her head back and forth like she was at a rock show. Her eyes were squeezed shut against the bright light that was flicking on and off like they were trying to induce a seizure. Clint stepped into the office. “Looks like she might actually be enjoying herself. You seriously fell for one weird chick, Cap.” Steve nodded, “She’s the weirdest.”

“So you’re okay with it?”

“That she’s weird? Of course. That’s why I like her.”

“No, the mission.”

“What?”

“She called me last weekend, said she was in. Didn’t you know?” Steve couldn’t find his tongue. “That’s what all this is about, getting her ready in case…well, in case.”

***

A man with a mask that vaguely resembled a scull came into the room. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He gripped Loki’s face in his hand, roughly turning it from side to side. “I thought I’d recognized you. I’ve been keeping tabs on my old friend, Captain America. Just making sure he and his band of misfits wouldn’t cause trouble for me. Now why would his little plaything be here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Originally, it was going to be all one chronological chapter. But I thought that it might be a tad more interesting to mix it up this way. It had also gotten a tad long and I don't want to bore you guys.
> 
> As ever thank you for reading and for the feedback. I'm truly overwhelmed at the response that this thing has gotten. Steve and Loki are incredibly humbled and pleased as well--which is saying a lot, especially for Loki! :D
> 
> Until PART TWO, I bid you ADIEU!


	51. Something Next to Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki spends a few last weeks in relative normality before setting out on a mission for SHIELD.

“Wait. What?”

“We’re going to Istanbul. End of February. There’s some kind of investor meeting. We’re going in as a couple of rich snobs that want to destroy democracy or something. It’ll be just like a Stark benefit bash!”

“When exactly did she call you?”

“Sunday. Around two? Why?”

“Nothing. Just…wondering.”

Clint put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, “Cap, you know this isn’t your decision.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you look like you just got kicked in the gut?”

“I just wish she hadn’t made  _that_  decision.”

“Steve, you know I’m not going to let her get hurt. I care about her, too. She’s my friend.” He laughed, “Shit, I’m a little bit more worried about myself than I am about her.”

“I’ve dealt with Crossbones before. He’s ruthless.”

Clint pointed to the screen displaying the night-vision feed, “Yeah, and so is she.” An agent had been sent in for another round of interrogation and intimidation. It was a man who Onheil hadn’t met before, meant to make her uneasy. He was sprawled across the table, Onheil’s manacles held fast against his throat and his head against her chest. The agent was struggling and sputtering. “I am done with this farce! I think that I have more than proven my abilities to withstand lengthy and unconventional interrogation. You will free me of these bonds,  _now_.” Coulson flicked the regular overhead lights on, “That’s enough, Agent Ferguson.” Her eyes flicked toward the ceiling and held the agent still for another moment before lifting her arms and releasing him. He scrambled away from her and out the door. Nothing about Onheil seemed to surprise Steve anymore.

Clint grinned, “See? She’ll be fine. Kind of reminds me of ‘Tash.” He paused; his eyes went wide as saucers, “Don’t tell either of them that I said that.”

***

Tony clapped him hard on the shoulder. "It's Valentine's Day, Spangles!" Steve resumed beating the living daylights out of the hanging bag. He'd gone to the Tower to blow off steam. Onheil had plans. She wouldn't say with who or doing what. So much for her heart belonging to a soldier. So much for having never stopped. He didn’t understand why they couldn’t just go out as friends. He’d even offered to invite Clint, as much as it would have killed him to do it.

"Aren't you supposed to be wooing Pepper, not irritating me?"

"Pepper is in Amsterdam on business. I shall woo the Lady Potts at a later date!"

"So that means you pick on me?"

"No, that means you and I go out for a little bro-date!"

"No."

"C'mon!"

"No. Why don't you ask Bruce?"

"You're just being sour because you didn't get a chance to ask Miss Mischief out. And Bruce is locked away in the lab being a complete party pooper. Has been since he said he thought—never mind. We’re going out and that’s that."

"No."

"I bet what I have planned is going to turn that frown upside down." He spoke in a singsong voice.

"No, Tony." Stark slapped something onto the hanging bag right in Steve's line of sight. It was a flier for the studio Steve had signed up for dance lessons at. That felt like a lifetime ago. "Just because Pepper is on the other side of the world does not mean that I'm going to do dancing with you on Valentine's Day."

"I know. You can't dance anyway." Steve bristled at that. "I think you should take a long look at this little advertisement." Steve took the sheet of paper from him. There were several pictures across the bottom. It was some sort of cabaret, no one under 18 years old admitted, ladies half price in advance.

"I don't get it."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Go home. Get showered. Dress fancy. I'll pick you up at seven."

Steve wasn't sure why exactly he found himself dressed in the expensive clothes from Hugo Boss that Pepper had picked out for him—he hadn't worn them since the first time, since that night at Tonic—or why he was waiting on his front stoop when Tony arrived in his flashy car at promptly seven o'clock. Perhaps he didn't want to be alone. Perhaps it was too tempting to spend the night wallowing in self-pity and watching horror movies. Alone. With only a cup of coffee for company. He was not going to call Clint to come over. Nope. He’d just go out and endure whatever Tony had in store for him. Clint could just wallow alone in the fact that Natasha declined his offer for dinner.

"Aha! I knew you'd come."

"Shut up and drive, Stark." Steve's tone was light in spite of his dark mood.

When they reached the small theater that was indicated on the flier from the studio, they found it set up with round tables for two or two couples. Tony half dragged him toward a table on one side of the room, shrouded in shadow. A heavily made-up waitress took an order for two scotches and returned with the drinks just before the music began to play. Steve recognized it, he'd seen the movie with Judy Garland’s daughter, he was pretty sure it had been on Broadway at some point as well.

A not-unattractive man dressed as the Emcee from the film poked his head out from the curtains, "Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome!"

"Really, Tony?" It earned him a kick in the shin and a  _shhh._

The Emcee continued his song, making his way through the crowd. Steve could only hope he didn't come toward their table. It was one thing for Tony Stark to be seen at a show like this. It was entirely another for Captain America to be seen at one. He breathed a sigh of relief when the man hopped back up onto the stage. "We have no troubles here! Here life is beautiful. The girls are beautiful. Even the orchestra is beautiful!" The black curtain that was hiding all but the front section of the stage swished open. There were several women lit in silhouette. "You see? I told your the orchestra is beautiful!" He proceeded to introduce the girls. They were all wearing masks in varying style. The first, "Rosie," was tattooed and corseted tightly. There was something familiar about her mouth that Steve couldn't quite place. The second girl stepped forward. Her tights were wild stripes of green and gold and she whirled around on her un-shoed feet. She looked to be wearing a bathing suit, covered in the front and completely open in the back. Steve found himself enthralled by the sway of her body to the music and hard femininity she exuded. Rather than a mask, she wore a heavy piece of green lace over the top half of her face and tied in a bow at the back. It have her an air of  _I can see you, but you can't see me._ She grinned wickedly when the first girl sidled up to her. "Oh, you like Lulu? Well too bad! So does Rosie." The grin turned even more wicked. It reminded him of—no. That couldn't be her. She said she had plans. This wasn’t plans. When the girl turned around her back was etched with what looked like a picture of a tree. Onheil didn't have any body art. He would know. He'd seen her body a few times. It was flawless and porcelain and hard and soft and dangerous in more ways than one. Tony elbowed him, "Enjoying yourself yet?" He waggled his eyebrows like he knew something that Steve didn't. Steve responded by gulping down a decent portion of the scotch in his glass.

***

Steve didn’t take it well when Barton told him that Loki had called to confirm her intended participation in the proposed mission. He entered the training room shortly after Coulson spoke over the intercom. He pulled a seat over to the table and looked at her hard for a moment. She offered her hands up to him, expecting to have the manacles unlocked and the bindings that held her legs firmly against the chair released. “So. You made your decision?” He made no move to free her. She put her hands down and stared at him just as hard. “Things are going to get tough, you know. This isn’t the only unusual way to try to break someone without physically harming them. SHIELD has certainly learned that over the years. Not every mission ends well.” They sat there in unblinking silence until Coulson came in and took the key from Steve’s hands.

She couldn’t decide if he was purposefully being cold at work or if he was simply trying to keep himself from starting an argument. She paused near his office one afternoon on her way out. “Did you and Onheil have another fight?” She was growing to like Red less and less. There had been the briefest hope of civility between them, but it had been dashed when the other woman realized that Barton was fully intent on having a relationship with her. “No. We didn’t.”

“Why did you two drive down to Point Pleasant alone?”

“How do you know about that?”

“GPS on your phones.”

“What is it with all of you SHIELD people and having no concept of what crossing the line into an invasion of privacy is?”

“Steve, I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“I don’t need you to look out for me, Natasha.”

“What were you doing in Point Pleasant, Steve? You didn’t come home until the next morning.”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.” It really wasn’t. Loki hoped Steve had the fortitude to tell the spider to back off. She could only imagine the look he was getting from the other agent. “I’m allowed to have a personal life. I’m allowed to have friends. I’m allowed to be friends with her.”

“I really don’t think you’re trying to just be her friend, Steve.”

“Yeah, well, that’s between Onheil and I, isn’t it? Neither one of us has any intention of compromising the other.”

“Didn’t say you did.”

“I think you’re just jealous that she and Clint are going out on a mission. I think you’re threatened that he’s chosen to befriend her.” Natasha made a sound like she was trying to speak and Steve railroaded over her. “And I’m not saying that _I’m_ not jealous. I hate that she’s so comfortable around him. I hate that they fell into being so close so quickly. It took me months to get on her good side and all it took him was an archery lesson. I hate it. It makes me crazy. But I’m dealing with it. You’re clearly not.” There was a moment of silence. “Good luck on the recon operation, Natasha. Come home safe.” Loki started to back away from the door and then stopped. She felt like she should show some sort of united front with Steve against this tyranny against their having private lives. She stayed in place, leaning casually against the wall, scrolling through her text messages. Natasha paused and looked her up and down when she passed.

“Udachi, Natasha.” The spider’s nostrils flared slightly and she narrowed her eyes before she continued walking.

Steve poked his head out the door when he heard her speak, “Eavesdropping, Miss Mischief?”

“Ack. Don’t you start calling me that now, too.” She wrinkled her nose at the nickname that Stark insisted on calling her by. “I was on my way out. Heard you talking.”

“Mhm.” He gave her a suspicious look. “We still on for tonight?” They were. Loki would be watching Owen and Samantha for a few hours and then she would walk down to Steve’s building. “And there better be spicy noodles and scallion pancakes waiting for me when I get there.” She grinned and winked as she breezed past him. He stepped fully out of his office door and called down the hall after her, “Where did you learn to speak Russian?”

“V drugoy zhizni, Kapitan dorogaya.” She heard Steve chuckle and close his office door.

Loki hadn’t been completely truthful about what she intended to do before going over to Steve’s apartment that evening. Her first stop was to the tattoo parlor she’d been visiting diligently since the eve of the New Year.

At first, it felt like a brash, impulsive decision. When the outline was finished and Loki stood in front of her mirror at home, examining the changes to her skin, she very seriously contemplated removing it. She was fairly sure the same magic she used to hide or remove scars from her flesh would be able to make the ink she’d willingly had injected into her skin vanish as well. As she stood there watching her reflection, tracing the lines over her skin, she let herself go.

***

It was something he’d practiced in the eternity that he’d spent locked away in that cell. Between books, between visits from Frigga, he explored himself. Why should he only be able to show his true self when in contact with some object of Jotun origin? Or when one of them touched him and literally shattered the illusion he now knew he portrayed? Loki was not sure if it was because he’d learned the truth or if the feeling had always been there—the _otherness_. The thing lurking inside that made his skin feel tight and uncomfortable and made him want to rip his hair out at the root. He explored himself, trying to locate it, to probe it, to call it forth and unleash it.

Perhaps he could learn to be the spirit of winter as well as the hearth. Everyone was so determined that he was the embodiment of destruction, well then, he’d be master of two of the most destructive forces he could fathom. He would become the breathing contradiction, the abomination, that everyone believed him.

So he let go.

It began with a feeling. A twinge. Barely noticeable. But it was there. He looked down at his trembling hands and was sure he only imagined the markings on them. When he touched his face, he couldn’t deny it. Just as his fingertips began to discolor, Frigga appeared, dashing his concentration. During that visit, he requested a looking glass. With meditation, he saw himself with red eyes. With concentration, he could feel the tribal markings on his face and chest. With willpower, he could feel the fine lines that covered his body—he found they reminded him of the lines in the ice on Jotunheim that formed with time and age and freeze and thaw. Eventually, his clenched hands turned blue. The color crept up his arms while he peered at his reflection in the glass. He roared and shattered the mirror with a flick of his wrist and a bolt of energy when the son of Laufey looked back at him.

“My child, why do you torture yourself?” Frigga had appeared behind him, a hand pressed to her heart, her voice soft and smooth. He turned toward his pretended-mother, the blue hue draining slowly from his face, his skin smoothing into the porcelain countenance she knew best. “I do not torture myself, Frigga. I educate myself.” She did not wince; she did not appear afraid or disgusted. Her eyes held none of the horror that Odin’s did that day when Loki held the Casket in his hands. It made Loki feel overwhelmed with a toxic mix of love and hate for the woman he used to call _mother_.

***

The lines of the ink followed the lines of the Jotun scars nearly perfectly, obscuring them in some places and framing them in others. Loki felt as though the weight of Yggdrasil was on her back and now it really was, at least figuratively. The marks on her face and chest had been inflicted upon her before she was even self-aware. Still more had appeared naturally, hidden beneath the Aesir illusion until that day on Jotunheim. She felt as though she was taking her flesh back—carving out her own markings, making the ones already there more truly her own. The design had begun as simply a tree. It was to serve as reminder and fortifier. After her first meeting with the artist she had commissioned to ink the image into her skin, inspiration had struck. If she was taking back her flesh, reclaiming it from centuries of lies and torture and discovery of the monster within, then she would paint herself upon it in the same way she had poured herself into the canvases that covered her walls.

Hidden in the lines of the branches and roots and pattern of the bark were symbols of the things and people that had come together to make her who she was. A moon for Frigga; a bowl for Sigyn; flames in for Glut and their daughters; a twisted heart for Angrboda; a serpent for Jormungandr; a wolf for Fenrir, a horseshoe for Sleipnir; a crowned scull for Hel; twin sparrows for Vali and Narfi. Odin was represented by a valknut and Thor by Mjolnir’s head. There was no need to represent Laufey—he was already on Loki’s skin, his blood on Loki’s hands. She represented herself in the shape of two of the upper branches, curved in a shape akin to her helmet. In this final session, she intended to add one more symbol. The symbol she saw in her dreams. The first symbol she had come up against that night in Germany. The symbol of the man who saw something more within her. When the artist was finished adding the small, five-pointed star near Frigga’s moon he indicated that she should examine the finished product in the mirror. “Some of my best work, I think. You’ve got some incredible talent, yourself, drawing this whole thing up. What do you think?”

Loki ran her fingers over her side, following the paths the branches created. They dared venture over her ribs while the roots threatened their way against her thigh. The star was raised and angry looking. She almost wished it would stay that way. “It’s horrifying.” The artist frowned and she shook her head. “I love it.” He grinned and asked if he could photograph the work for his portfolio. When he was finished, she dressed and thanked him after handing over a painfully large sum of money.

“I have to go away for some time, my love.” Owen frowned deeply and put down the marker he was holding.

“Are you going back to Arizona?”

“No, I’m not going back to Arizona. I will never go back there, not if I can help it. Then I would not be able to see you.”

“Then where are you going?”

“My dear friend Clint and I are going on a short trip across the ocean to another country.”

“What country?”

“Turkey.” Owen informed her that she was very silly. That was an animal you ate on Thanksgiving, not a country. “All the same, I must go. But I will be back sooner than you can even think to miss me.”

“Will you take me to the Lego thing when you come back?” He gestured to the poster for _The Art of the Brick_ hanging over his bed. Loki leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Of course I will. I promised, didn’t I? I never break my promises.” Owen shot her a severe look and brushed his fingers through his hair. It was like looking at a miniature Steve for a moment.

Steve bowed and stepped back, sweeping his arm across the room as he opened the door, “My lady.”

Loki inhaled deeply, “Food first, then art.” Steve chuckled and closed the door. There was little conversation, the glow of the television and the light from the kitchen providing minimal illumination into the room. Steve pulled out his laptop when he was finished eating and opened the photo-editing program that Loki had recommended. “I think I just need a different model for this. Natasha and I have been so…strained. Which is why I asked you.”

“Because you and I have not been strained?”

“We have…but, things are better between us. And I’ve never felt so connected to anyone else. No one else inspires me the way you do.” She knew he was blushing even in this dim light. “Anyway…Natasha just doesn’t look right in a lot of these.” He scrolled through dozens of photos of the spider with powder in varying colors splashed across her face against a stark, white background. Loki tapped the screen, “She looks terribly patriotic in this one.” Steve laughed. Natasha had blue pigment splashed across her face. Loki pulled the laptop toward herself and scrolled back through the photos. “I think the problem is that her hair clashes with the colors you chose. Her expression, though…” She clicked a few buttons and played with the saturation of the photos, making some black and white. “See?”

Steve ran his hands through his hair, “Maybe you should be the one signing up for art school.”

Loki chewed the inside of her cheek in thought, “Perhaps I will.” She turned back to Steve, “Does that mean you’re going?”

One side of his mouth quirked up into a bashful smile, “Yeah. I have a meeting with the admissions people over at FIT next week. I wanted to put some of these in my portfolio.” He chewed his bottom lip and looked up at her as if seeking approval. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, “Oh, Steven. That’s wonderful.” He looked her dead in the eye for a long moment until Loki blushed and had to look away. “Shall we get started?” Steve nodded and closed his laptop.

Lights were turned on, a sheet was tacked up onto the wall to hang over the door, and a tripod was set up. Steve asked Loki to take her hair down out of its ponytail and went into his bedroom to retrieve his box of art supplies. The pigment, evidently, was dry paint powder. “It’ll come off your skin pretty well, but clothes I’m not too sure about.” He gestured down at the front of himself and the very colorfully stained white tee shirt he’d emerged from the bedroom wearing. Loki responded by stripping out of her sweater. Steve looked at her through the viewfinder on the camera. “Do you think you could…” He gestured to her shoulders. Loki slipped her arms out of the straps of her bra and camisole. He looked again and grinned, “What color would you like to be first?”

“What color do you think?” Steve laughed and picked up the tin of green pigment. He told her to close her eyes and hold her breath so she did not breathe any of the powder in. Steve stepped back and looked over his work after he’d blown a palm full of the stuff in her face. She opened her eyes and tilted her head downward slightly, looking up at him through her lashes. He drew in a sharp breath. “Wow.” He fumbled for the button on the shutter control in his hand and snapped a photo. They went through several colors and poses and faces. Steve was quiet and intense, lost in whatever was happening in his head. The only sounds he made aside from the occasional grunt of approval or dislike after he’d adjusted Loki’s position was soft whistling. She didn’t recognize the tune, but if it was a song, it seemed to just keep repeating the same several bars.

It was quite late by the time Steve decided they were finished. He leaned against the doorframe while Loki scrubbed her face clean one last time. “I know you said to stop saying that I was sorry, but I am. For the other day, after Clint told me you’d called him.” He looked down at the floor and held a towel out to her. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. I’m just worried. You’ve never been in the field before and I’ve dealt with Crossbones. He’s…bad.” Loki smiled softly and slipped her arms back into their straps, “It’s okay.” She shoved the towel down into the laundry hamper. “C’mon. I want to see all those pictures.”

They ventured back into the living room and Loki pulled her sweater back over her head and tied her hair back up while Steve loaded the photos onto his laptop and opened the editing program back up. Loki’s breath hitched in her chest when she saw her image on the screen. “I…you…”

“You don’t like them.”

“I do. It’s just…I’m naked.” He laughed and reminded her that only her shoulders were bare. “No, that’s not what I mean.” She clicked through several photographs and blinked back the tears that were making her vision swim. “They’re lovely. I’d be delighted to have a photo in your portfolio.” His face broke into a grin and he asked her if she’d like to see the program he was trying to enroll in. She did. He clicked through the school’s website showing her everything he could think of. He finally landed on the page that described what he needed to submit with his application. “Steve, did you read this all the way through? It says that photography can’t be included in a competitive portfolio.” He face dropped as she pointed out the line on the screen. “Steve, don’t worry. You have plenty of things to put into it. You have so many sketches! And you’re working with charcoal and ink and watercolors—Steve!” His head was in his hands. “Steve, everything will be fine.” She stroked his face and put her arms around him. All of the excitement of just a moment prior had drained out of his body as his nestled his forehead into the crook of her neck. “You’re art is magnificent. You will be accepted into the school with no problem.”

They stayed that way for a long moment. Loki knew Steve was fighting through the disappointment, trying to keep a cap on his emotions. “You’ve gotta think of something to keep you grounded.” His voice was muffled. She peeled him away and looked at him. “Something to keep you in reality. In case Crossbones gets to you. You can’t let him get into your head. You need something to keep you from losing yourself, to keep you focused.”

Loki thought for a moment while Steve shut down the laptop. She began to whistle the tune that he’d whistled on and off in chunks while he was photographing her. He looked up at her, waited for the tune to start over. “Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way? Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right night and day?” Loki cocked her head to the side, curious. “It’s my song from the bond tour. That costume you wore. On…on Halloween,” he blushed. “The girls sang it while I gave a speech to the audience.”

Loki helped Steve clean up before she bid him goodnight. “Onheil?” She paused at the door. “Do you have plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes.” He looked like she stabbed him. “Good night, Steve.”

Loki could not remember the last time she had felt so invigorated, so alive, so completely free. She sat in front of the mirror she was sharing with Drew and stripped out of her bathing suit and tights. “That was amazing.” Drew’s face was as flushed as her own. She was already getting ready for her solo number. There were a few acts between her and the opening. She was going to be a mermaid in a big metal tub. She whipped her hair back into a pair of braids and wrapped them around her head before slipping a wavy red wig over her hair. When she was called to be on deck, Loki helped her up the stairs and zipped her into the glittery tail before setting her down into the tub. “Don’t drown, now.” Drew splashed her in response and settled down into her pose before the curtain opened.

She returned to the dressing room slick with water and glitter, tail draped over her arms. “Hey, you’re chummy with Tony Stark, right?”

“Somewhat, I suppose. Not as much as in the past.”

“Did you invite him to the show?” She sounded curious. No, Loki did not invite him. No one but Drew knew about her even participating in the class, let alone the showcase. “Hm. Could swear that was him in the audience. I might be wrong though. Looks like he’s with a guy. Lighting is bad, can’t really make out that side of the room too well.” Loki’s breath hitched in her throat. What Drew was implying was the last thing that she wanted.

***

There were comedy acts both light hearted and dark. There were a few drag acts. There were monologues. There were burlesque numbers. There were musicians and singers. There were acrobats and contortionists and dancers. Steve really was enjoying himself. Until the mermaid came out on stage. She had red hair, but Steve was certain it was a wig. The tattoos gave her away as the girl the Emcee called “Rosie” in the opening number. He introduced her now as Hedy Lucille. Now that she was maskless, Steve recognized her. “Holy moley. That’s Dr. Carter.”

“That’s who?”

“Dr. Carter. Drew. Drew Carter. From biometrics. Her sister was one of your scholarship kids, remember? Coulson likes her.”

Tony leaned forward like he was trying to get a better look. “Hot damn. I think you’re right.” He leaned back in his seat and took a sip of his drink. “Nice tattoos. Didn’t think she was the type.”

Dr. Carter flicked her tail and played with her hair. Halfway through the number she unzipped the thing hiding her legs and gave the audience a surprised a delighted look when she revealed a set of shapely gams and fancy, fringe covered shorts. By the end of the number she was down to the tiniest pair of underpants Steve had ever seen and glittery, shell-shaped stickers over her nipples. The Emcee reappeared when the curtain closed. “While we clean up the ocean water off the stage from Miss Hedy’s dip, please take a moment to order another round of drinks and mingle!” The lights came up slightly and Tony headed to the bar. Steve immediately pulled out his phone.

_“Where R U?”_

_“Out.”_

Steve turned to see what Tony was up to. He was leaning close to a waitress and pressing something into her hand. Steve assumed it was a tip; she’d been especially attentive to them. Their glasses never seemed to be empty and although they’d gotten a few stares, no one from the audience or the staff had bothered them.

***

One of the stagehands knocked on the door during intermission. “Is there an Onheil in here?” Loki rose from her seat and cinched her robe closed. The stagehand held out a slip of paper to her, “Someone upstairs asked that this be given to you.” Loki asked whom. The stagehand shrugged and left, responding to whatever order were being barked into his earpiece. She sat down and looked at the slip of paper. It looked like a business card.

_Peek-a-boo. I see you._

She turned in over and felt as though she was going to be sick. On the side that should contain the business information, it simply said _Anthony E Stark_.

Loki couldn’t worry about it. She had a number to perform and she’d be damned if she let Stark ruin it for her. She’d been looking forward to this far too much. She wiped the makeup she had painted on and started over. If she’d been found out, well then, she’d give him what he wanted.

She stepped out behind the closed curtain and let her arms be wrapped around herself. Her heart raced for a moment before she reminded herself that this was all planned. One of the girls would be cutting her out of the straight jacket soon enough. The music began to play and the curtain eased open _“My heart is a weapon of war. My voice is my weapon of choice.”_

***

“Scandalized yet, mon Capitaine?” Tony plopped back down into his seat and offered Steve a Twizzler from the package he’d gotten from the woman dressed like a cigarette girl on his way back to the table.

Steve chewed the candy thoughtfully, “I’ve been to a burlesque show before, Tony.” Stark nearly choked. It gave Steve an odd satisfaction to have surprised the man that nothing seemed to surprise. “Although this is much more of a dramatic production than anything I ever saw.”

“So it seems Howard _didn’t_ know the man he couldn’t stop talking about.”

Steve chuckled, “It’s not like I made it a habit of going, Tony. Before the war. Maybe a year or two after I lost mom. Bucky decided that we were men and we deserved to be entertained as such.” He shrugged and filched another Twizzler. “We snuck into Minsky’s a few times. Got to see some really talented singers and dancers.” He could feel himself blush slightly. “But LaGuardia was starting to crack down at that point. We didn’t get into many. Didn’t really want to get arrested when he started raiding the place. The girls that performed on the bond tour with me, some of them were burlesque performers before we picked them up. Without a steady paycheck from Minsky’s they needed a job. Some of them were even Zigfield girls who had brothers or husbands overseas—wanted to help out in whatever way they could.” Tony made a _huh_ sound and studied Steve while he chewed a Twizzler.

The lights blinked indicating that intermission was about to end. Soon enough, there was music starting up again and the curtains were sliding open on a trio of girls. The one in front looked like she was wrapped up in a straight jacket. They had interesting costumes. What was that style that Onheil told him about? He was pretty sure it was called _steampunk_. Someone at the benefit had been dressed in a Victorian-looking costume with cogs and gears decorating it. That’s what Onheil had called it. _“I’m giving you a head start, you’re going to need it—‘cause I fight like a girl!”_

Steve took a sip of scotch as the woman front and center looked up at the crowd. Her eyes were wild. Her smile was wicked. Her makeup was much softer than the other two but her hair was teased up into a sort of mohawk. _“And if I end up with blood on my hands, well I know that you’ll understand…”_ She stepped forward more fully into the light and the liquid in Steve’s mouth sprayed out across the table. Tony’s head was between his knees, physically trying to hold back laughter.

***

Loki lost herself in the music. It was as much a reclaiming as the picture that was etched into her skin. It was a personal _fuck you_ to the Aesir—to Odin—to Thor—to Laufey. One of the girls slid a pair of scissors up the front of the jacket she was wearing. Even with the constrictive, brown leather corset she wore beneath, she felt instantly freer. _“It’s so easy to kill—this I learned by watching you. If I have to, I will, it’s not pretty but it’s true. I am through lying still, just a body to be beaten, fucked, and if I’m lucky left for dead. So who’s scary now?”_

It was more performance and dance and less strip. That was for next. This was just to get everyone’s heart pounding. To pull them to the edges of their seats in anticipation. When Loki had shed the jacket, a collar, and some gloves the music began to transition. She was alone on the stage, down on her knees, the long white petticoat splayed artfully around herself. _“A thousand years gone by—too late to wonder why I’m here alone in my darkest hour. She rose that fell a flower, I should have known.”_

***

Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away from the stage. His heart was thumping so hard in his chest he was sure everyone could hear it over the music. She was fierce and angry and beautiful and dangerous. The music changed to something softer. He recognized the singer of both; it was someone Onheil listened to often. He’d shown her how to download the music onto her phone so she could listen while she was running. He’d never heard these before though. _“Tell me no more stories and I’ll tell you no lies. No one wants to hurt me, but everybody tries.”_

Steve relaxed and tried to enjoy her performance while Tony made himself busy dramatically patting the table in front of them with napkins. He tried to force the wave of jealousy and possessiveness that washed over him back down as she shed the rest of her clothing. Her boots—her boots!—were tied loosely enough that she could simply slip her feet out of them. Then the skirt fell. Leg warmers were pulled off—leg warmers he was sure he’d seen before. Then bright green stockings were rolled down and discarded. The leather corset she was wearing didn’t have laces. She simply deliberately unfastened the hooks that ran down the front of the garment until it was completely open. She turned her back on the crowd and let it fall to the floor. With her upper body bared, it was plain to Steve why “Lulu” had seemed so familiar and so strange. “What did she _do_?” Now that the bathing suit she’d been wearing earlier wasn’t obscuring the image, Steve saw how really big it was. He said a silent prayer that somehow the tattoo wasn’t real. She had such beautiful skin. It felt like a sin that she’d allowed someone to do that to her. For a fleeting moment he wondered if she’d drawn it herself. _“For this freedom I have given all I had. For this darkness, I gave my light. For this wisdom, I have lost my innocence. Take my petals and cover me with the night.”_

She was slipping out of some ruffly shorts and dropping them onto the floor. She never turned fully back to the audience. At the last lyric she looked over her shoulder and Steve was sure that she was looking directly at him. The music stopped abruptly and the lights cut out when the word _night_ was finished. The Emcee stepped out as the curtains swished closed again. He was clapping his hands, “Let’s hear it for Miss Mischief!” Applause erupted from the audience. The Emcee let it die down before he introduced the next act. Tony perked up, “Hey! That’s _my_ name!”

***

There was a text message waiting for her when Loki reached the dressing room again. _“Why didn’t you tell me?”_ She ignored it and her phone buzzed again. _“I would have brought you flowers.”_  Loki couldn’t help but laugh. Another text message from a number not stored in her phone arrived. _“Miss Mischief, huh? Thought you hated when I called you that.”_

She tossed her phone back into her bag and pulled her striped tights back on and a tee shirt over her head. She couldn’t help the grin plastered over her face while she worked the teasing out of her hair and pulled it back into a ponytail.

“La vie boheme!” The closing number was upbeat and catchy. Loki knew the song from Steve’s library of theatrical soundtracks. She and Drew slid off the stage and shimmied through the tables. She turned and looked directly at Stark. “Hey, mister, she’s my sister!” Some of the performers were pulling audience members up to dance; the atmosphere was like a party. “Viva la vie boheme!” There was confetti and laughter and clapping and Loki couldn’t help the exhilarated feeling coursing through her body. She almost forgot to feel guilty that she was living her life while her daughter was trapped in a cell. She thought briefly while she stared at herself in the mirror if Thor had been so poetic as to lock Hel in the same cell that Loki had been in. She shook herself and continued to wipe the makeup off of her face. There wasn’t anything she could do without compromising both of their safety, possibly their lives. Loki knew Hel would like that even less than being left to her own devices. Compromised—when had she started thinking like a SHILED agent?

***

“Have I ever told you what an amazing ass your girlfriend has, Spangles?” Steve gave him a stern look. “Those little leather shorts—oh, man. Did she wear them for you? Is that why you’re so red?”

“Shut up, Tony. I’ll tell Pepper.”

***

Loki could barely make eye contact with Steve on the train when she saw him Monday morning. They both seemed to be making it a point to avoid each other and she was perfectly fine with that. She had no idea how he was going to react. His text messages had seemed good-natured enough, but it was so hard to tell tone in writing sometimes.

She sat with Drew in the cafeteria. The scientist was explaining to her that before Loki and Clint left for Turkey that she would take a new set of prints and photographs of their faces and identifying features. “So that in case something happens…” She trailed off and looked off to the side. “So that if something happens, you can be identified.” Loki reached across the table and took Drew’s hand. “Nothing will happen, nothing like that at least. Don’t worry.” She tried to smile; both were startled when Tony Stark sat down beside Drew.

“So, Miss Mischief! Guess you like the name after all, huh?”

“What are you doing here, Tony?”

“Tweaking frequencies on our Asgardian cell phone. We’re getting regular transmissions, but they’re a little fuzzy. Say, did Steve know about your saucy little skills?”

“No. And I would appreciate it if you did not publicize it, Tony.”

“Why? Ashamed of yourself? You shouldn’t be. It was quite entertaining.”

“I’m not ashamed at all. My concern if for Dr. Carter.” She gestured to the woman who looked like she wanted to crawl under the table and die. “It is a matter of reputation, Tony.” Stark nodded, Loki knew that he would understand that in the scientific community—especially one with legal attachments—reputation was everything.

“Ah, you.” He looked accusingly at Drew. “You broke Phil’s heart.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your little televised make-out ‘sesh on in Times Square. He saw it. Never saw a man look so broken.”

“That’s nonsense. Phil and I are good friends, nothing more.” Drew’s cheeks turned pink when Tony asked if she was sure about that. He stood and walked away before she had a chance to answer.

***

At the end of the week, Loki rushed to her bedroom window at the sound of a soft _tap-tap-tap._ She threw the window open and the magpie hopped onto the sill. It spat out the pomegranate seed and began to leave. Loki slammed the window shut, “Wait!” The bird studied her and sat, waiting.

_Honored Father,_

_There are things you must know. The Aesir feared me before, when they believed that I was harboring you. With the approach of the predicted time of Ragnarok, they have become terrified. Thor called me to Asgard. I assumed it was for further questioning and negotiation—I think that he realizes I have come to know where you are hiding. When I arrived, I was taken into custody by the Warriors Three. For many weeks I spent my days in the cells you are familiar with. Thor left for Midgard to warn them of Ragnarok. Of what there is to warn, I do not know. I have not made my boat. I have not rallied the dead. There is no indication that my brother has risen from the Midgardian Sea, nor that my brother has broken his bonds. You are not here, you do not make advances or threats toward Heimdall—he still has not been able to see you, it infuriates him, I am sure that you would be delighted to know._

_When Thor returned from Midgard, something seemed off. I was taken from my cell to chambers in the guess quarters. While I am no longer in prison, I do not make any mistake that I am still prisoner. Hogun often sits by the window, pretending not to watch me. When it is not Hogun, it is the Lady Sif. I believe that Thor is smart enough to not use Fandral or Volstagg. I would skin either of them alive if given the chance. They are most vile._

_There is some reason to believe that there are Valkyries guarding the borders of my kingdom for the time being._

_At the moment, my faithful companions seem to be absent. I believe Thor has called them to his chambers to strategize for a war that is not coming. There are palace guards at my door, but not my window. I sincerely hope this message finds you well. I pray you do not compromise your own safety for mine—I can more than care for myself._

_With Affection,_

_Hel_

_Queen of Helheim_

Loki watched as the letter burned in her hands. She wanted to send something back to Hel. She wanted to show her daughter that she cared for her, that she would come and defend Hel—attempt to free her—at a moment’s notice. She would not stand by and allow the Aesir to control the fate of her blood any longer.

She asked the magpie to be patient for just a moment longer. She rummaged for her sketchbook in the bottom of the bin filled with her art supplies. She jabbed her finger with the blade she used to sharpen her pencils and let several crimson drops fall onto the page she tore from the book. With a wave of her hand the folded page became a seed that the bid easily swallowed.

Blood was life and magic. Hopefully it would provide Hel with some comfort, some strength. It would send her a message that needn’t be written in words to put either of their lives in jeopardy. Loki thanked the bird and opened the window. She watched as it took off into the black Brooklyn sky.

The following Monday, she prepared to leave for Turkey with new comfort and confidence. Loki arrived at SHIELD with Steve in tow, having ridden the same train car with him into Manhattan. He paused at the elevator bank before he pressed the up button and wrapped her in his arms tightly. “Don’t worry. I will see you again before I leave.” She smiled at him and peeled his arms off of her body.

She met Clint in biometrics. Drew was quiet and serious. Coulson was hovering at the door. Clint was talking to a scientist that Loki had not seen before while Drew uploaded his new set of prints into the computer. She refused to make eye-contact with Loki while she rolled her fingers over the glowing green screen of the device Loki now knew was called a Livescan. She watched as he fingerprints appeared on the screen. Drew stopped before finishing the digital transaction and hugged Loki tightly, “Be safe.”

Drew indicated the door to the lab next door where Clint’s photograph was being taken. They took pictures of his face from several angles and he removed his shirt so they might have a record of his more unique scars and natural marks. Loki wondered what they would think if she showed her Jotun markings right now. She allowed herself to be photographed and responded in the affirmative when the scientist holding the camera asked if she had any other identifying marks. “Hey! Wait!” She rolled her eyes when Clint turned pink and tried to cover his own when she stripped her shirt and bra off. “Whoah.” His eyes swept over the artwork on the side of her back. The scientist took several photographs of the tattoo from farther away and close up, taking in all of the detail. Loki suddenly felt embarrassed when he asked her to cover her breasts so that he might photograph the scar running down her chest.

Coulson led them toward the locker rooms; “There are clothes in your lockers. You’ll get on the plane looking the part already. Try to preserve your cover at least until you get to the hotel.” She dressed and followed Clint and Coulson to the conference room for their final briefing.

“Does Steve know about that?” Loki raised a brow, she supposed he did. “Have you had that the whole time?” No, she did not. It was a recent acquisition. “So you and Steve are…” No, they were not. And that was none of his business.

They were directed to seats around the conference table. Loki barely heard a thing Natasha said as she flipped through photographs on the large screen at the end of the table. She was only acutely aware of the Captain’s leg against hers under the table. She reached down as subtly as she could manage and placed her hand on his knee. His body visibly relaxed. Clint’s eyes flicked from her to the Captain and back to the screen.

“So you’ll be going in as a married couple. Clint is new money with a trophy bride looking to unload cash into the arms race.” Coulson passed them each a folder. “This is all stuff that you’ve hopefully seen already since you had your first briefing at the beginning of the week. Thanks to Onheil’s talent with languages, we’re stealing a page from history here for your covers.”

Clint snorted in laughter, “So basically she’s Marina and I’m Oswald?”

“Pretty much. Makes sense with the idea of an American wanting to pour funding into weapons that can be used—and will probably be used—against America.” He pushed a small box across the table. “Engagement ring and wedding bands. They’ve got a GPS tracker in them.”

Loki couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re not even going to give me a proper proposal, Agent Barton?” Clint took the bait; the mood had become far too serious for Loki’s taste. The Hawk rose from his seat and walked around to her side of the table, kneeling in front of her when she stood. “Onheil Ferguson, will you be my pretend wife and use your force-field thing to keep me from getting shot?” Loki batted her eyelashes and put her hand over her heart, “Oh, Clint, yes!”

Fury cleared his throat from the doorway, “If your done making a mockery of this, can we finish the briefing? Their plane leaves in two hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kind of touched on a few of my theories about Loki's Jotun markings here. I think that the ones on his face and chest that are really prominent and visible when Odin finds baby Loki are part of ritual scarification of children and infants, like some African tribes do. The rest, the finer ones you can see on his face especially in the scenes with Laufey, are part of the general aging process and occur naturally in Jotun skin. I think that it can be compared to the lines you can see in icebergs and formations that show how the ice has melted and shifted and built up over time.
> 
> I also think that Loki should be able to access his Jotun form if he really wanted to. Baby Loki changed his appearance very easily. Adult Loki should be able to regain the ability with practice.
> 
> I've also shared some insight into Loki's tattoo and the basic reasoning behind it for those who expressed concerns. I was going to share the details after Loki got back from the mission, but thought doing it now would be good for those who have concerns over the legitimacy of the decision/frequency of a tattoo-getting Loki in fics.
> 
> The songs that Loki dances to are "Fight Like a Girl" and "Rose Red" both by Emilie Autumn. Drew's mermaid performance was inspired by a friend of mine who does a burlesque act as a rockabilly Little Mermaid. And of course, the opening is "Willkommen" from Cabaret and the closing is "La Vie Boheme" from Rent.
> 
> Loki's little bit of Russian is written phonetically. If I've gotten it seriously wrong, then I lay the blame with Google translate. She tells Natasha "Good luck" and Steve "In another life, Captain darling."
> 
> Steve is attempting to enroll in the Associates in Fine Arts degree program at the Fashion Institute of Technology.
> 
> We also got to hear from Hel and discover that Thor did feel awful about what he did after Steve pointed out that he locked his own niece up.
> 
> Part two is coming up next! I promise the next chapter will be MUCH more exciting. In lots of ways.


	52. Then So am I... Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last days before Loki leaves for Istanbul are especially difficult, but what's to come is even harder. Part Two of a two-chapter event (Finally--I know, I'm a horrible, cruel author to make you all wait so long).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:**
> 
> Chapter contains descriptions of violence and some gory/squeamishy things.
> 
> Loki and Clint get handled rather roughly, but I think you guys already had that suspicion from Part One in Chapter 50. Maybe we'll see if that prayer circle **Suheyla's** been holding for Clint's foot did any good.

Steve felt horrible that Onheil had felt she couldn't share the hobby she’d taken up with him. Did he really come off as that prudish? He saw it for what it was—performance art. Even with Tony’s jokes, he didn't feel like Onheil was getting naked for fun or had become a stripper. He’d been friendly with the bond tour girls, a few of them at least. He knew what burlesque was like in his day. He was cultured enough to know what it was now.

His only solution was to avoid her to keep from saying anything stupid. When she hadn't answered his text messages that night, he assumed she was embarrassed or upset. He’d been serious. He did wish she had told him that was the reason she didn't want to do anything on Valentine’s Day, that she had plans. He would have been there with bells on to support her. He would have made sure there were flowers waiting in her dressing room for her or waited for her with them after the show. And he most certainly would not have been there with Tony.

He saw her in the coffee shop Saturday afternoon. “Hey.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Everyone was right. He absolutely needed to get it cut sooner rather than later. She went into autopilot and grabbed a mug and poured him his regular coffee. It was between the lunch and evening rushes. There were a few people sitting at the tables but it wasn't busy. She placed the mug down in front of him and he pushed his money toward her on the counter. “I, um, I really enjoyed the show. It was great. You were great. You've really got rhythm. But, I sort of knew that already.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “Why didn't you tell me? I would have come.” He laughed, “It would have been nice to find out from you rather than have it thrown in my face by Tony.”

“I just wanted it to be for me.” She shrugged, “Just something selfish and personal. It had nothing to do with wanting you to know or not. I’m sorry Tony did that to you.” She handed him his change, “I am glad you enjoyed it, though.” She smiled and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Do you want to come over after my shift? We can order pizza, go over what you want to put in your portfolio? You had your meeting with admissions, right?”

“Yeah. I think they only want me because of who I am, though.” The impression he got from the admissions counselor was that she was simply meeting with him to satisfy her superiors. She’d made vague references to the fact that he’d begun an art education but that since it was so long ago it would be worthless to even attempt to find his records—he certainly wouldn't have had enough credits or credit hours to be accepted into the Bachelor’s program. He would just have to start over with an Associate’s. She guessed she could probably get him into the school in spite of his lack of SAT or ACT scores that the SUNY system required and his inability to produce a high school diploma. Did she not realize whom she was talking to? How hard it would be to even begin to look for those things? He’d been believed dead for seven decades. The few things that Peggy and Howard had saved as part of SHIELD’s archives were all that he had left of that life. But that was precisely why she’d agreed to speak to him. Because wouldn't it be grand to have  _the_  Captain America enrolled as a student. What a novelty it would be. Steve had been tempted to scrap the whole idea.

Onheil frowned, “The system has used you for so long. Why not use the system, just this once? You’re supposed to be selfish and doing something fulfilling just for yourself, remember?” Steve stepped aside for a customer to place his order and pay. “Stop being right all the time. You make me feel foolish.”

That evening was like the summer again. Discussing art and eating and listening to records and just being generally contented with each other’s company. It felt good. It wasn't lost on Steve that it was the first time he’d been in Onheil’s apartment since before the weekend in the woods. He couldn't help but smile when he saw that his drawing was still hanging on her wall. “Why would I have taken it down? It didn't stop being lovely because we stopped being together.” It also wasn't lost on Steve that Onheil seemed to be purposefully skirting around what was coming on Monday. Finally, she just cut him completely off, “I don’t want to discuss it, Captain. I just want a few more hours of something next to normal before my whole world is thrown off kilter again.”

That night had brought nightmares that made him wake up screaming in a bed that was too wet to simply be from the sweat that made his shirt stick to his back and plastered his hair to his forehead and face. When he stepped out of the shower that had been far too hot but had stopped him from feeling so unearthly cold, he gripped the edge of the sink and stared at himself in the fluorescent bathroom light. There had been ice. So much ice. Like he was walking through the middle of an iceberg. And there was so much blood, but all he could do was follow the trail of it—to try to find the source of the whistling somewhere in the maze of ice he found himself in. He kept slipping on the slick trail. By the time he found the source of the sound—by the time he found her—he looked like Carrie on prom night. She was huddled in the corner. She looked gaunt and pale and crazed. “Where were you?” she demanded. “You promised! You promised you would never let anything happen to me! Now look what you've allowed!” She lifted her hands, drenched in blood. “This red is on  _your_  ledger, Captain darling.” He didn't know whether it was his blood or hers or someone else’s. All he could be sure of was the sound ripping its way up his throat and out of his mouth.

He couldn't get back to sleep. He put on the clothes that he would run in when the sun rose and dragged his laundry down to the basement. He sat on top of the drier and read the book that Onheil had suggested, the one about the sniper who was like him but not. When everything was folded and put away he left for his run, catching a glimpse of Onheil taking off in the opposite direction for her own. He showered again and went to Mass. He lingered in the pew afterward, fingering the Rosary in his pocket, begging the Holy Mother to keep Onheil safe. When he’d finished lingering in the church, he lingered in the coffee shop. He sketched aimlessly and drank far more coffee than any one person should probably drink, even with his metabolism. It was busy; Onheil wasn't able to spend much time at his table between customers. He didn't care; he just wanted to be in her presence. To see her bloodless and whole and vibrant. To be near her and soak as much of her in as he could to sustain himself until she was home.

“Come over tonight.”

“I can’t. I have…I have some loose ends to tie up before I leave tomorrow.” She was firm, Steve didn't try to argue. He didn't want his last day with her to be a negative one. He didn't think she had any loose ends—she didn't have anyone here to have loose ends  _with_. Aside from Dr. Carter, Onheil didn't appear to have any sort of social life. And he was fairly sure that SHIELD had already informed the manager of the coffee shop that she would be talking a sort leave of absence, even going so far as to send someone over to fill her hours.

Steve went home defeated, relegating himself to an evening of re-runs and leftovers. Finally, he couldn't stand himself anymore. He pulled apart his portfolio one last time, taking all of the pieces out that Onheil hadn't thought represented him well enough and putting in ones she had suggested. “Damn her.” She was right. When he was finished, he decided to retire early. He fully intended on being there when Onheil stepped out her front door in the morning for her run and he didn't care how creepy any one else thought that was.

He was woken from a dead sleep by the sound of his cell ringing. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock, he hadn't been asleep long; it was only a bit past midnight. He picked up the phone, surprised and not to see Onheil’s picture on the screen. “Steve?” Her voice was a whisper.

“Onheil? It’s after midnight. Is everything okay?” His own was hoarse from sleep.

“I woke you. I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait! Onheil, it’s fine. What’s the matter?”

“I…Can I come over? I just…I don’t want to be alone. Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course.” The buzzer for the front door rang not even a moment later. Steve waited in the open doorway of his apartment. “What, did you teleport over here?”

She looked at him seriously, “Something like that.” She slipped past him into the apartment and sank down onto the couch. She was dressed in pajamas and looked like hell. Steve shut the door and slid the chain into place while Onheil slipped her leather jacket off of her shoulders. Almost on instinct, he crossed the room to her and knelt to untie her boots. She let out that maniacal giggle she always did when he performed the action. “Can I sleep here?” Of course she could. Steve didn't try to offer her the bed, he knew she would say no. He simply went to the closet and retrieved a pillow and a blanket for her. She hunkered down wordlessly and Steve bade her good night. It was somewhere around two when he heard the floorboard in the hallway squeak. He turned his head and saw Onheil silhouetted in the doorway by the streetlight filtering in through his window

“You’re a terrible sneak, you know that?” He lifted the edge of the comforter to indicate she should come to bed.

“I wasn't trying to sneak.” She moved hesitantly into the room and crawled beneath the comforter, tucking herself against his body. He could barely make out her grin in the weak light, “I remembered socks.” Steve couldn't help himself, he leaned forward. Her grin shrank and she closed the distance between them. Her lips parted and she deepened the kiss. Steve felt as though he might pass out from happiness. She tasted like the mint tea she favored. Onheil pulled away and tucked her head under his chin while he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the tension melt from her body. “There’s still time to change your mind, you know. One phone call and it’s Natasha or May on that plane in the morning instead of you.” She exhaled heavily and twined her legs into his, “I’m not going to change my mind.”

Steve spent most of his morning making last minute checks to ensure that Onheil and Clint’s cover was secure. When they reached the hotel in Istanbul, they would be on their own. Using traditional comms was too risky and the most recent intel had suggested that there would be frequency jammers in use in many of the areas they’d be in. He was the first one down to the conference room when it was time for their final briefing. Steve could barely register a thing that Natasha was saying as she flipped through pictures on the big screen at the head of the table. Onheil and Clint had taken seats across from one another at the head of the table. It was odd to see Clint in a suit, let alone the expensive one he was wearing now. He looked good. He looked better standing beside Onheil when they had walked into the room. Steve was acutely aware of Onheil’s leg against his and her hand on his knee. The annoyance at Clint and his suit drained out of his body at her touch.

Clint was laughing, “So basically she’s Marina and I’m Oswald?” No, they weren't. Steve had helped develop the covers himself. They may have been the inspiration, and Clint might actually  _be_  an assassin, but they most certainly were not going in as Kennedy’s killer and his wife. Nope. That would be a disgrace. What was Coulson saying? He pulled a box out of his jacket pocket. What was—?

“Engagement ring and wedding bands. They’ve got a GPS tracker in them.”

“You’re not even going to give me a proper proposal, Agent Barton?” Clint was getting up. Clint was coming over to their side of the table. Clint was kneeling. Steve’s heart was racing and his stomach was in knots. He wasn’t allowed to kneel. That was his job. He got to kneel in front of her and take her shoes off and hear that insane giggle—not Clint. “Onheil Ferguson, will you be my pretend wife and use your force-field thing to keep me from getting shot?” Steve’s ears were ringing so loudly, he didn’t hear Onheil’s response. She was smiling and batting her lashes and putting a hand over her heart.

“If you’re done making a mockery of this, can we finish the briefing? Their plane leaves in two hours.”  _Oh, Fury. Thank you. Thank you, Director._ Clint still had that shit-eating grin on his face and he was slipping a diamond ring onto Onheil’s finger. He handed her the plain band that went with it and crossed back to his side of the table while he slipped the matching band onto his own finger. Coulson’s tablet started beeping indicating that the GPS was active. Steve wondered for a moment how strong the signal would be if he shoved that ring right up—“Captain? Is something wrong?” Everyone was looking at him. “No, no, I’m sorry. I just got distracted. Nothing’s wrong.” Onheil’s brows came together and she put her hand on his before turning back toward Coulson.

“So, you’ve already been fitted for these things. Best comms we could come up with. They run at a higher frequency than normal, so even with the jammers hopefully we’ll still be able to hear you guys even if you can’t hear us.” He chucked a box across the table to Onheil and one to Clint. When she opened it, it appeared to contain a tooth. She picked it up and opened her mouth, popping the false molar over her own. “Oh, wow. That was  _incredibly_  lady-like. Please don’t do that again until you’re home. You will absolutely blow your cover.” She shrugged.

“So am I supposed to get really close and open my mouth when I’m talking to people?” Her voice echoed from Coulson’s tablet. He thumbed the device and turned the volume down. “No. Your ears, nose and throat are all interconnected. As long as no one is both smothering you and holding something over your ears, we’ll hear everything loud and clear.” Clint snorted, “How comforting.”

More information was given. Steve told them all again about his experiences with Crossbones and the man’s ruthlessness. “I don’t know about this Red Scull, though. It’s not the same man I dealt with, if it even is a man. So I really can’t offer any more insight there. But if they’re using the moniker I would imagine that their objectives will be similar, even if their methods aren’t.” They were given a travel packet containing their plane tickets, hotel information, and invitations to the investor event.

Steve followed them down to the garage, not allowing Onheil to say no when he took her suitcase from her to carry it down to the car that would be waiting for them. He loaded it into the trunk and helped her into the coat she was holding. He chewed his bottom lip nervously for a moment before wrapping his arms around her, “Come home safe, Onheil.” She clung to him until Coulson cleared his throat. “I’ll be back before the snow melts.”

“Wait!” Tony came bolting through the door from the elevator bank. “Fitz and I have been working on these all weekend, you can’t leave without them.” He walked up to Clint and brandished a pair of glasses. “Should work on the same frequency as your comms and the GPS chips in the rings. This way we can have eyes on whatever you do.” They looked normal enough; Clint slipped them onto the bridge of his nose. Steve hated him for looking so dashing. Tony turned his Stark tablet around and Clint was looking at his own reflection. “Lenses have a digital film over them. Camera turns on when you open the ear things and off when you fold them up. Battery life shouldn’t be a problem.”

Coulson cleared his throat again, “We really need to get moving.” Onheil hesitated before pressing a firm kiss on Steve’s lips. “Do me a favor?” He told her he would do anything. “If I’m not back in a week, clean out my fridge?” The both laughed. Steve was glad for her comedic break to the tension he felt settling over her departure. Tony whistled and she shot him a withering look as she slipped into the back seat of the car. They watched as Coulson drove away with Clint and Onheil. Tony clapped him on the shoulder and they headed back up into the building, “C’mon. We’ll start getting all the frequencies tuned up in MTAC.” Steve shook his head and told Tony he watched too much television. The Navy had MTAC, not SHIELD. Tony shrugged, “Whatever. Same difference. JARVIS already has the feed from Clint’s glasses. Just need the downlink from the GPS and the comms. Shouldn’t be too hard. SHIELD’s firewall really sucks.”

They went up to the command center that Natasha already occupied, intently watching the video feed from Clint and listening to the casual conversation that was going on in the back of the town car that Coulson was driving. It seemed that Onheil had already slipped into character. Clint would speak to her in English with an exaggerated southern accent and she would answer him in Russian or heavily accented and broken English. The word-for-word transcript was appearing on one screen while the translation worked on the one beside it. On another, the car was followed using the traffic cameras dotted around the city. They tapped into the security cameras at JFK and watched as the two under-cover operatives moved through the airport and easily made it through security and onto their flight. Fury indicated that they were virtually on their own at this point. All SHIELD could do was monitor the progress they were making and hope for the best. They had a few people located several hours away from Istanbul that could go in if they needed to be pulled out in a hurry. “Schastlivogo puti,” Natasha muttered.

***

Clint and Loki made it to their hotel room without trouble. She noted some of the more incredulous glances she received when eyes connected with her bare legs and stylish, designer heels. Loki collapsed onto the expansive bed in their suite when they reached it, but her character didn’t collapse with her. She continued to chitchat in Russian with her pretended husband.

“That was the most agonizing ten hours of my life.” She kicked her shoes off and started pulling pins out of her hair.

“Mine too. All I wanted to do was take a nap and you wouldn’t shut up or stop fidgeting.” Clint shot her a severe look and she rolled her eyes and stood, directing him to unzip the back of her dress. Clint removed the video link glasses and folded them into his pocket before complying. He headed toward the bathroom while Loki rummaged through her suitcase for slacks and a blouse. “We’re supposed to go eat in the tea lounge in an hour.” Clint emerged from the bathroom and hung his jacket over the back of a chair. “One of CB’s underlings is supposed to be there with some of the other investors. We’re making a casual, accidental introduction.”

They headed down to the lounge earlier than planned and took advantage of the time to eat. Loki allowed Clint to order food and tea, reminding herself that she was supposed to play the part of submissive but witty trophy-wife. It wasn’t hard to spot the henchman they were there to surveil. Clint slipped his glasses back onto his face when the man entered the room in a small group. They’d chosen a seat that would be easy to pass by casually. Loki took Clint’s elbow as he led her past the table heading toward the exit. “Mister Lewis?” Clint looked around as if confused as to who had called his name. The man at the head of the table beckoned them over. “Mason Lewis?” Clint nodded and the man extended his hand to shake. “And the angel on your arm must be Mrs. Lewis.” Clint grinned and planted his lips against Loki’s cheek, “Yes, my wife, Ekaterina.” Loki blushed attractively and the man seized her free hand to lay his lips against her knuckles.

***

Steve wasn’t about to go home. He planned on monitoring what was going on for as long as the people in command center would tolerate his presence then stay the night in the barracks so that he could be close at hand if anything happened. Tony had suggested he stay at the Tower. He could sleep in a real bed in a suite on the Avenger’s residential floor and JARVIS would feed him everything on the big screen. Steve declined, as tempting as the offer was.

He watched as Onheil and Clint made contact with the first of Crossbones’ henchmen. The video link from Clint’s glasses was used to run facial recognition software on each of the men seated at the table. Nearly instantly they had at least a partial list of Crossbones’ investors, a veritable who’s-who in the black market weapons trade and underground terrorism. Plans were made for a tour of the city and some sightseeing that would include introductions to further investors. Hopefully it would bring them closer to intercepting these super-powered weapons and finding out exactly who was using the Red Scull moniker. Natasha seemed to be both insulted an impressed at Onheil’s ease in the situation. She was playing her part well. Steve knew, in spite of all of his nerves and misgivings, that Onheil would be perfect for the job. The same way she had slipped into easy, friendly conversation with Bruce and Tony the very first time she met them—the same way she knew exactly what questions to ask and when she should simply listen and absorb—she knew how to handle them men seated at the table around her. She slipped easily back and forth from fluent Russian, allowing Clint to fawn and translate, to pretended-broken but understandable English. “I’ll admit it. She’s good. She’s gotten more fine details out of them in the couple of hours she’s been sitting with them than my people were able to get in a week of surveillance.” Natasha’s tone was grim.

Finally, they made it back to their suite for the night. Clint seemed to be very conscious about disconnecting the video link when they were in the privacy of their room. Steve was thankful for it. Onheil could be modest when she wanted to be, but in truth, she was anything but bashful. “Ekater—Whoah!” they heard Clint exclaim. “They are only breasts, Mason.” Natasha’s cheeks colored for a moment. She wondered aloud if Onheil remembered they could hear everything. Steve huffed and crossed his arms, wondering silently if she was purposefully trying to get a rise out of either Clint or himself. After several moments of sounds indicating that the two were preparing for bed, there was relative silence. Steve couldn’t get the image of Onheil and Clint tucked against each other beneath the expensive sheets in the plush bed out of his head. He started to leave the room when there was a muffled noise like someone whispering. He waited for the transcription software to pick it up.  _Spokoynoy nochi, Kapitan dorogaya._ He glanced at the translation side of the screen just to be sure and smiled, “Good night, Lovebug.” Natasha raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

***

Loki’s week became filled with trips in the backs of town cars and a flurry of faces and languages. The morning after their first night in Istanbul, there was a knock on their door. A hotel employee was behind it, holding out a thin white box. She said that it was for Mrs. Lewis from the man they had met in the tearoom the night previous. Clint took the box and tipped the woman before closing the door. Clint raised a brow at her as he set the box down on the side table near the door and opened it cautiously. The box contained a note. Loki read it while Clint unfolded the tissue beneath, “A beautiful woman should have beautiful things.” She shrugged and tossed the note aside while Clint lifted a dark green, silk scarf out of the box. Loki assumed she would be expected to wear it, Clint thought it a safe assumption. When they appeared in the lobby to await their hosts, Loki had the scarf draped around her shoulders so that she might easily cover her head with it when they went into the mosque’s they were supposed to visit that day.

Loki especially enjoyed the day they spent touring the Hagia Sofia in the middle of the week. The church-turned mosque-turned museum was beautiful. It felt like stepping back in time. She impressed their host with her knowledge of the building’s history and the artwork on its interior walls and ceiling. She blushed prettily and curved her body closer to Clint when the man asked her where she had learned all that she had, “I have a great interest in a great many things.” She batted her lashes and the man slid his tongue not subtly across his bottom lip as he looked her over. “I think I chose the scarf well, no? It compliments your eyes and complexion perfectly.” Loki nodded and thanked him for the gift and the compliments.

That evening, the investors gathered in the ballroom of the hotel. “Hopefully we’ll see the big man tonight.” Clint had grown weary of repeating his cover story over and over again. He had recently acquired his fortune by investing in stocks and private companies and real estate around the world. He had no family. He had met his wife in his travels and they had been married for five years. He was disillusioned by the west and war and consumerism. He wanted to put his money to good use and contribute to causes that would better the world around him, “And if that means funding experimental weapons, then that’s where I’d like my money to be.” He chuckled as he zipped Loki into her evening gown, “I don’t think I’ve ever been complimented so much on my taste in women. Don’t tell Natasha that. Although, I guess she’s probably listening. Hi, there Natasha. I’ll be home soon.” Loki couldn’t help but laugh as well. Loki turned around and looked at Clint his jaw had gone slightly slack. She asked him what the problem was, “Nuh…nothing. You look amazing. That’s all.” Loki glanced toward the mirror. She had to admit she looked rather attractive. The forest green silk flowed over her like water and clung to her body in all the right places. She oozed sexuality even with the modest neckline and back. She pulled the scarf that had been given to her earlier in the week around her arms and allowed Clint to lead her out of the suite.

The man that had been showing them around the city greeted them warmly in the ballroom. He fingered the edge of Loki’s scarf after kissing her knuckles. “Mr. Lukin,” she said softly, neither accepting nor rejecting the advances that he’d been making all week.

***

The footage they were getting and the audio of some of the side conversations was amazing. Steve didn’t like the man that had been playing host to Onheil and Clint—or Ekaterina and Mason—all week. He didn’t like the way the man leered at her. She was capable of handling herself, though, that much Steve was sure of. She played the part of loyal wife perfectly. She allowed the man to make his passes, humored him when she needed to, but made it obvious she had no intent to stray from Clint’s side. There was something familiar about the man. Steve had that strange déjà vu feeling he got when something reminded him of his life before the ice. He felt like it was an important feeling so he requested the files pertaining to his missions during the war and Red Scull from archives. He came up with nothing. “Mr. Lukin,” Onheil said softly as he looked at the man through Clint’s eyes.

They mingled and ate dinner and listened to men give grand speeches about the evils of the west. Steve’s boredom was only tempered by his extreme annoyance at what they were all saying. He may not agree with some of the things that were going on with the world he woke up in, but he didn’t think that any of it was a good reason to drop bombs on innocent civilians. All the while, the facial recognition and voice-comparison software was cranking out results. Fury looked positively happy at one point as he glanced through the pages of names and profiles while agents and specialists worked to add locations of weapons cashes, production facilities, and terror cell bases to various maps and files. Finally, Clint and Onheil were face to face with the man of the evening. He extended his hand to Clint, “Brock Rumlow, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lewis.” Clint shook the man’s hand. “The pleasure is mine, entirely. Please, call me Mason.” He took his hand back and gestured to Onheil, “This is my wife, Ekaterina.” Steve felt every muscle in his body twitch and tighten as the man took Onheil’s hand and kissed it. She giggled prettily and murmured a greeting.

“Steve? Steve!” Natasha put her hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. She looked down at his hands. His fingertips were ripping through the synthetic leather on the arms of his chair, making gouges in the foam beneath. “Steve, everything is fine.” She sounded so sure of it. Steve couldn’t relax. Crossbones was looking at Onheil far too intently, too closely, with too much scrutiny. It wasn’t the same way that every other man in the room had ogled it. It was different. “Steve, you’re thousands of miles away and she’s standing beside one of the best assassins in the world—and one of your best friends whether you want to admit that or not. She will be fine.”

***

“Mrs. Lewis, might I steal your husband for a moment to discuss business? Alek will be more than pleased to entertain you for a few moments.” Lukin appeared out of nowhere and offered Loki his arm.

“It appears I do not have much choice!” Loki smiled and laughed. “Do not convince my husband to part with too much of his money. I have grown far too accustomed to our lifestyle.” Clint grinned and kissed her cheek as she took Lukin’s arm.

“So Mr. Lukin—“ He stopped her, insisting she call him by something more familiar. “Aleksander, it does not seem to me that you are much interested in the same…business…as my husband is.” Loki slipped in and out of Russian; Lukin followed her easily.

“No, my dear Mrs. Lewis, I am not.”

“Then what are you interested in?”

“Something more…biological.” Loki asked if she should make sure that all her vaccinations were current. Lukin laughed, “No, not that kind of biological.” She could not get him to give up anything more. Instead of continuing their conversation, he pulled her out onto the dance floor. Loki resisted momentarily, insisting that she could not dance then that her husband would be displeased then that she was ill. “Don’t be foolish. Your husband will not bat an eye. And if he does, I will gouge it out.” Loki gave him a horrified look and he laughed, less than gently pushing Loki into motion. He was not Steve. It was not right.

The orchestra was playing a lazy waltz. Lukin guided her around the floor with ease and grace. Loki hated it. She hoped Clint did not look in their direction. It was bad enough Steve would have to listen to this—he did not need to see it too. “You never show your husband any affection.” Loki asked what he meant, she thought herself a very attentive wife. “You allow him to put his arm around you, to put his lips to your cheek or your head. You never show real affection. You are distant.” Shit. “I prefer to keep the affection between my husband and I just there—between my husband and I.”

Clint walked up behind Lukin and put a hand on his shoulder, “May I cut in?” Lukin’s eyes slid from Loki to Clint and back before he stepped away. Loki settled into the dance frame that Clint set, “My love, Aleksander does not believe us affectionate enough.” Clint raised a brow and took his hand from her waist to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as if to say, “Everyone will see you.” She did not care. She did not intend on having their cover blown because this brute did not believe them a loving couple. She picked her hand up from his shoulder and caressed his cheek, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him rather than stealing a glance at Lukin or Rumlow beside him. She closed the distance between them and Clint wrapped his arm around her waist. They kissed, long and lingering. Clint’s cheeks were pink when they parted. Rumlow was chuckling, “I think you stand corrected, Alek.”

Later on in the evening, after several drinks at the head table with Rumlow and Lukin, Clint pulled Loki off to the side. “Evidently there are samples for inspection here. Basement level, think we can sneak away? I’m sure Fury wants to see these things up close.” Loki leaned close and told Clint to whisper something to her. He warbled nonsense into her ear and she made a show of blushing and putting a hand to her lips and looking around before Clint pulled her through a side door and toward the service hall.

They made it down to the basement with little incident. Loki removed her heels to reduce the nose they were making as they slipped down the smooth, concrete halls. It wasn’t difficult to find where the samples of weaponry were hidden. Loki could practically feel the pulse that the radiation was giving off. It reminded her of the way the air felt when she was holding a large amount of energy at the ready. They went through the suitcases and crates systematically, examining guns, launchers, and ammunition before carefully replacing each object so that it would not appear to have been handled. Clint had evidently gotten Rumlow to give up some information about where the shipment was headed—Germany, not Russia. He hadn’t been able to get any further information about who the person at the top of the whole pyramid was, though. “Better than nothing. Let’s get back before we’re missed.” Loki agreed and they began to head back up toward the ballroom. Loki stuck an arm out to stop Clint from moving; someone else was coming down the hall. She looked around herself. There was an open door a few yards back down in the opposite direction. She pulled him into it, but did not have time to pull the door shut. “Shit.” She cursed softly. She could hear male voices that she recognized from upstairs and during their time touring the city. Over the pounding of her heart in her ears, she could make out that they were discussing Lukin and whatever his side project was. Loki pulled Clint close, grasping his lapels. She pressed her forehead to his, trying to make it look like they were kissing. The men opened the door directly across the hall. Loki peered over Clint’s shoulder; one of the men made eye contact with her and then continued his conversation, slipping into another language. Loki didn’t have the patience to make the translation in her head, she knew if SHIELD could hear the conversation or see the men while they were speaking there was a chance there conversation could be translated or lip-read or something. She moved through strategies in her head rapidly. Clint was frozen where he was, his face confused, straining to hear what the men in the other room were saying. Loki dropped her shoes on the floor and picked up the hem on her gown in one hand, snatching Clint’s glasses with the other. “Lift me.” She pressed her lips to his. He caught on, seizing her waist and pressing her to the wall. He muttered something that sounded like I’m a dead man when Loki wrapped her bared legs around his waist and rolled her body against him. “Fuck.” His curse got the attention of the men across the hall. Loki buried his face against the curve of her neck and extended her arm out, angling the glasses to catch the men within the frame of their recording. They leered for a moment, saying something about the American and his whore, before continuing with their conversation. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her head back in mock pleasure, hoping she was recording something useful and willing Clint to just play the game—willing Steve and Natasha to recognize the game for what it was.

When they reached their suite once again that evening, things were awkward and quiet. Loki showered and dressed for bed while Clint sat on the couch and cleaned his firearm. She crawled into bed and turned away from Clint's space, waiting. "That was good thinking, downstairs." He pressed his lips close to Loki's ear and spoke in a barely audible whisper. He had swept the room for bugs when they first arrived and again early each morning, but they could never be sure. It was why they kept up the pretense of Mason and Ekaterina even in the privacy of their room. "But I think I'm going to be a dead man when I get home. I'm just not sure whether Steve or 'Tash is going to get to me first." Loki turned toward Clint and asked him if he felt anything, any spark, any reason to think anyone's relationship or trust had been violated. "No, it was just part of the cover." Then he didn't need to worry about being a dead man. She told him to relax and get some sleep. They had a flight back to New York tomorrow afternoon and his being tired and cranky would not be compatible with her apparent inability to keep still en route. Clint chuckled and settled back into the pillows. "I am seriously going to miss that shower. And this bed. And the food. I vote next time someone wants shawarma, we suggest finding someplace that serves those manti things."

At some ungodly hour of the morning, before dawn broke, there was a firm knock on the door. Clint rubbed his eyes and slipped the glasses onto his face, "Did you order room service or something?" Loki did not. She padded toward the bathroom to retrieve her robe while Clint moved toward the door, retrieving the gun hidden under the side table. He asked who was there and looked through the peephole. He held up three fingers. Loki called her magic to her fingertips, waiting. Clint eased the door open when whomever was behind it called that it was hotel facilities, holding the gun just out of sight and slipping the safety off with his thumb. It most certainly was not hotel facilities. Clint barely got a shot off, hitting the one closest to the door in the shoulder before he was backhanded severely and knocked to the ground. The glasses went skittering across the floor. Loki set a bolt of energy hurtling toward the doorway. The two that were still standing were knocked backward and they slumped un-moving against the wall, necks and limbs at incorrect angles. Clint scrambled to his feet and fired again at the first when he lurched forward and knocked Loki to the ground, the shot missed. "No!" She tried to get out from beneath the man atop her, stretching her fingers toward the man who had practically materialized in the doorway. His aim was knocked down, the projectile from his firearm going through the top of Clint's foot rather than the middle of his chest.

Barton crumpled to the floor, drawing his foot in, the blood on the polished wood floor shiny and slick in the light from the hall. In a second, Loki's word went dark. Every muscle in her body twitched and tensed. Her teeth clenched. Then there was nothing but black.

She wasn’t sure how long she was out. She did know that she could still feel the tingles of electricity running over her muscles, her nerves. Her skin felt as though thousands of ants were roaming across it in neat lines radiating out from one point on her back. When she moved her hands to rub her face, there was solid pressure on one wrist, a clinking noise when she moved. So, this is how it was. Escape one cell to be thrown back into another. She would hear labored breathing to one side. She braced herself, hoping it was Barton, hoping he hadn’t gone off to Valhalla and left her here alone to find a way out of this mess. She opened her eyes. “Hey, you’re awake.” His voice was hoarse and glorious. “I was beginning to think all that stuff about you being so resilient was bullshit. They tased your ass pretty good. You kept twitching. I thought you were having a seizure or something. When I tried to touch you to wake you up your green stuff shocked me.” He looked down at his hands. He was too pale, his cheeks to hollow. “It’s never felt like that before. You’ve hit me with it, but it’s never felt like that. I guess Fitz was right about your powers being electrical or nerve based or something.” Loki didn’t know how to answer. She assumed that they were dropping their covers.

“I feel different. Odd. Off.” She pulled herself into a sitting position against the brick wall. The chain that connected her wrist to it looked like it would give just enough slack to walk to the center of the room, but not the opposite side. She looked down toward where Clint’s foot was extended. Someone had wrapped it, though the bandage looked to be in need to changing.

That day was quiet. Loki figured it was evening when the door to their cell opened and a bottle of water and hunk of bread was shoved toward them. She pushed both at Clint. He was more severely injured; he would need to build up his strength. He protested and she threatened to test out _the green stuff_ on him to see if it still felt different. He ate. Loki contemplated disappearing. She couldn’t leave Barton. She’d helped to destroy his life once. She would not do it again. Not now that they had become friends. Not now that he trusted her.

The following day, they came for Clint. They were men that she’d noticed around the hotel, assuming they were staff. Loki moved in front of him and earned a backhand across the face. She moved in front again. “Stop, just let them.” She gave him a stern look and did not allow him to push her away. They shouted at her, they pushed her. She wouldn’t budge. Finally, one of them grasped Clint’s ankle, the one attached to his injured foot. He howled at the pain as the man dragged him away from the wall. “Stop it!” The air crackled with electricity, the shimmer of green-gold settling over Clint and shocking the brute manhandling him. The two looked at each other and backed away. Hours later they were back, cattle prod in hand. Loki got to her feet and stood in front of Barton, magic buzzing at the ready at her fingertips. When they seized her wrist and unlocked the shackle, she went willingly.

The first interrogations reminded her of being berated by Natasha. They were slow and methodic. The occasional forceful question meant to catch her off guard. She kept her mouth shut for the most part, making up entertaining tidbits as she went along. By the end of the third round of questioning, what she was sure was at least the second straight day, she had made herself a lost Romanov duchess turned high priestess of the cult of Cthulhu who needed Clint to ensure the deliverance of the anti-Christ into the world. After that she wasn’t just _the American’s whore_. She was the _American’s insane whore_. The men who questioned her would mutter curses and prayers. After that, the questioning became more intense. She went back to her cell with fresh bruises about her face and throat more often than not. Her captors and questioners seemed confused and enthralled at the rate they disappeared.

Loki watched Clint’s foot closely. Sometimes, she would be shocked immediately upon the door opening and left helpless to stop them from taking him. Occasionally, he would return with his own bruises. “They like to use me as a punching bag.” Clint chuckled and winced; holding his gut like he felt his insides would fall out. “I’m just glad they don’t hit as hard as your boyfriend does.” He made an exploding sound and moved his fingers to indicate something falling from the air. Loki recognized the mime as representing the Captain’s tendency to destroy hanging bags. When he did not return with bruises, he returned with fresh bandages. For a time, Loki simply watched the foot. She soon realized that while they were changing the blood-soaked gauze and cloth, they were not necessarily treating the wound. Clint began to sleep more often; exhausted by the exertion it took to choke down the stale bread and water they were given. While he slept, she examined. Heat radiated from his skin. The flesh of his foot was bright red and swollen. The color and heat began to move up his shin and calf. The decision wasn’t hard. She _was_ resilient. She could spare some magic to save Barton’s life.

The decision was hard to keep. Or her own accord, she siphoned off energy toward him, trying to keep the infection from spreading. She was tired—she’d been kept awake for days at a time. She was hungry—she forced her share of their meager rations on Clint more often than she should. Her magic knew. It had a life of its own and with each shock they gave her it grew more erratic. If she did not focus, it drew away from the task she’d set it to and worked to preserve her own health. It became harder to focus when the interrogation techniques moved from verbal to physical.

***

They were having a bit of a round table, trying to decide how best to move forward. Onheil and Clint would be back in New York soon. They’d gotten good information. Steve absolutely hated the way they’d gotten it, but it had been good. He was trying his very hardest to push it away. They were acting. They were undercover. He was trying to be mature about the whole thing and it wasn’t working too well.

The weapons were definitely similar in design to _Phase 2_. They were powered by radiation, but they weren’t quite sure what kind. The energy signatures may be similar to tritium, but there wasn’t enough left in the world to power an arsenal the size that was apparently being stockpiled.

They came to a standstill. “Everyone is tired. No one can think straight. And now we have whatever the hell Lukin is cooking up to worry about too. I think we need to wait for Barton and Ferguson to come back. Get sleep, come back to this whole thing with fresh eyes.” Fury rubbed his hand over his scalp. He looked as weary as the rest of them did. Simmons knocked on the door, “If you don’t mind the interruption, I think now might be a good time to finally present my findings.” She spoke quietly and evenly. Coulson waved her into the room and shut the door behind her. She tapped on her tablet and images appeared on the big screen at the head of the table. Tony had a self-satisfied smirk on his face that Steve chose to ignore. “I’ve held off on bringing this up because we’ve been consulting with Dr. McCoy. We’ve each exhausted all avenues of analysis.” She went on to explain about short tandem repeats and coding and non-coding regions and gene expression and halpogroups. “If Onheil is a mutant, she’s something entirely new. Not even the omegas have these levels of mutation—this type of evolution. I’m not even sure we can call it mutation. It’s like she’s a different species, entirely.” She flicked through images and short clips of video. “The buccal cells I took…they didn’t die. They regenerated. They grew. I have a petri dish in my lab that has an entirely new patch of skin in it that looks like I shaved it directly off the inside of her cheek.” She indicated new images on the screen. “And the chromosomes, particularly the ones for gender, are terrible unstable. We’ve never seen anything like this.” She paused, visibly trying to gather her thoughts. She then explained the differences between the readings she’s gotten from Onheil and Steve during their rounds of sparring and training and the differences between the two of them and someone average, if you could call Barton average. “She rarely actually exerts herself. The only times her heart rate goes up or her body gives off heat is when she’s emotionally distraught.” A thermal imaging video clip played of the day Onheil had shattered Steve’s face. The sound was off, but he knew what she was saying. The more agitated she got, the redder her image became. The air in the room seemed to get warmer as well. “She described to Fitz how it feels when she uses her powers—like she’s on fire. That’s exactly what our readings indicate. It’s as if we’re watching someone spontaneously combust. Especially when one considers the fact that she normally runs quite cool—mildly hypothermic, even. Not enough to notice except where blood circulation is weakest—in the extremities like hands and feet.”

Coulson glanced down at his phone, “Dr. Carter is on her way up. She has something important to say, evidently.”

Drew came through the door looking completely distraught. She’d sent Steve several emails wanting updates on Onheil’s well being. He’d given her what information he could, but her own worry seemed to rival his own. “Standard procedure. It’s standard procedure. Scan the prints immediately before a mission to account for any recent changes or scarring or amputations. Submit to the internal database for quality control and sequence check. They came back as not being in the database. I thought it was a bug. That’s why it’s taken me this long. I was checking and rechecking all of the software, making sure that the results weren’t reproducible, that it wasn’t user error. Nothing is wrong, but that’s the point. Everything is wrong.” She was ranting, pacing back and forth. She snatched the tablet out of Simmons’ hands and tapped security codes into it to bring up her own work. Two sets of fingerprints marked with Onheil’s name appeared on the screen. They looked the same to Steve. “They’re different. She’s got ridiculously rare patterns as it is. Ten tented arches. It’s next to never that someone even has one, but ten? And they’re elongated, ridiculously so. It looks like someone took them and stretched them out or tried to scrape them off. And now the new set, they’re different enough that when I ran the check, they came back as a non-match.” She zoomed in on the right index finger in both images. Steve had to really scrutinize the image, but she was right, there were very subtle differences. “I had a theory. So I got my hands on some of the security footage from the training room Onheil uses.” Steve caught Tony’s very purposefully innocent face in his peripheral vision. She tapped an icon and zoomed in on Onheil’s hands in the video as that signature energy rolled off her fingertips. “I think that the force of that energy—whatever it is comprised of—alters the friction ridges on her fingers over time.” She pushed the tablet back at Simmons and sucked in breath. “You can’t just change your fingerprints. It’s impossible. That’s why they’re such a valuable tool in forensics. They’re not just on the surface. They originate in the deeper layers of the epidermis. You’d need to boil your hands in acid—or—or—graft new skin on—or completely scar yourself.” Fury rose from his seat and put a hand up to stop Drew from continuing as he put his phone to his ear. “Yes, thank you.” He looked gravely around the room. “Barton and Ferguson have been compromised. They’ve been taken.” Steve didn’t think he’d heard right. It was impossible. She’d said goodnight to him over the comm link just a few hours ago. “No, Captain. You heard correctly.”

Steve was moving before he realized what he was doing. He was bolting down the hall. He could hear Natasha’s quick footsteps coming after him. He pushed through the command center door, pushing aside a terrified analyst. “Show me!” The man—the boy—at the computer stuttered and put his hands up. “Show me! Now!” He blinked rapidly and began hitting keys to call up the feed he clearly knew Steve wanted to see.

He watched as Clint was hit. As Onheil killed two men. As she was knocked down. As Clint was shot. As someone pressed a taser to Onheil’s back and she fell unconscious. Clint was struck across the side of the head again and he slumped on the floor in a rapidly growing pool of his own blood. Feet dangled at the top of the field of view. Onheil’s feet. Someone was carrying her away. Then someone stepped on the glasses. The video stopped. The audio continued, but their abductors were mostly silent, communicating in grunts and huffs. Then everything was just white noise.

***

Loki began to compare the methods her current captors used in attempt to draw information out of her to the methods she was pushed by as a child. She arranged them in descending order according to similarity.

First was the switch. If she concentrated hard enough, she could feel the sting of it against her palms. She could see herself standing with her arms extended, palms turned up, scrawny boy’s body trembling. She hadn’t been allowed to close her eyes against the sight of the switch or sting of its strike, each gasp earning another blow. Her hands throbbed in sympathy with the pain in the back of her. She wondered if Clint would appreciate a joke about turning into a zebra when he woke from his most recent magic and fever induced slumber.

Next, was being forced to kneel against the wall. It was for hours at a time. She was fairly sure they’d gone out and found the most jagged gravel they could find for her to kneel on. Internal reflection brought up the thought that perhaps that was why she so dearly wanted someone to kneel to her, because it had been forced upon her. She pictured Odin kneeling with his nose pressed to the wall. The giggle she couldn’t keep from escaping her lips had earned her a hard strike across her back with that damned switch. When she still did not speak her hands were hoisted above her head and she was allowed to hang by them until she lost all sensation in her fingers and her shoulders burned.

But that was where the similarities ended in function if not in cruelty. Some of their methods echoed the inhumane treatment of prisoners she saw in some of the television programs Steve watched. Her head was held under water for long periods. Her face was covered tightly with cloth while water poured down over it from above. Each time she was given a moment to breathe, each time they demanded information from her, she simply repeated her safety net—she whistled that tune and it grounded her, let her continue enduring. Steve faced horrors for the good of his country, for the good of humanity. She could face horrors to preserve the life of one man.

One thing Asgardian justice had never attempted was disarticulation. She wasn’t sure that they’d meant to do it. They’d seemed as shocked at the pop and the shriek that had ripped from her lips that followed as she was. They’d been hoisting her body up further; dangling by her wrist with each question she refused to answer. Eventually, her shoulder just couldn’t take any more stress. She’d been immediately let down and shoved back into the cell.

***

Natasha was fussing over him. He needed her to stop. He knew she was worried but she just needed to give him space. She needed to let him back into the room. He needed to apologize for making such a scene and to thank the older gentleman from facilities for showing up with that mop so quickly. He needed to get back in there so that he could hear Onheil’s voice. He needed to know what had made her shriek like that. He shoved his way past her and back into the room.

“Tony,” his throat burned. “Please tell me she’s okay.” Tony didn’t answer, his shoulders just sagged despondently. He’d turned the volume down, but he offered to turn it back up so that Steve could hear what was going on. Onheil was breathing raggedly. He voice came out in a stuttering whimper. There was the sound of a clinking chain and some shuffling. Steve turned to the transcription screen that had been blank for the last two weeks.

  _OF: CLINT. CLINT. YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP. PLEASE WAKE UP._ What was wrong with Clint? No one knew yet. There was shuffling and the sound of soft sobbing.

_CB: ONHEIL. WHAT’S WRONG. WHAT HAPPENED._ He sounded exhausted. _WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR ARM. THAT DOESN’T LOOK RIGHT._

_OF: I THINK MY SHOULDER POPPED OUT._ She shrieked again. Clint apologized for touching her. There was more clinking. _CLINT. I THINK I’M GOING TO PASS OUT._

_CB: YOU CAN’T. NOT YET. LET ME SET IT._ There was whimpering. _LAY DOWN. THIS IS GOING TO HURT LIKE A BITCH._ There were extremely pained sounds. Clint kept apologizing. _DOES IT FEEL BETTER._ Onheil said it did. She was panting. After a long moment she asked him how his foot felt. _IT’S STILL ATTACHED. SO I GUESS IT’S OKAY._ Onheil told him he felt hot. It must be the gunshot wound. If he was hot, it maybe infected. _DON’T LET STEVE HEAR THAT._ They both chuckled weakly. There was only the sound of their breathing for a while. _YOU NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE._

_OF: IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE WITHOUT YOU. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT AGAIN._

***

What Loki was pretty sure was the following day finally brought Rumlow back into her life. He was hiding behind a mask, but she recognized his voice. “It took you long enough to recognize me.” She grinned and he shoved her back so that her chair tilted. She just barely caught herself before she toppled backward. “So, do you work for SHIELD too? Is that how you two lovebirds met?” Loki was silent. Rumlow…Crossbones…whatever, continued to badger her about her relationship with the Captain. She got bored with it. For each question she answered with a line of her safety song. By the time she reached “Who’ll kick the Krauts to Japan?” she leaning forward as much as the cuffs on the wrists would allow and shouting at the top of her voice. Rumlow brought his fists down onto the table with a crash and Loki laughed maniacally.

When their daily ration of bread and water didn’t arrive, Loki apologized. “I pissed him off. I think we’re being punished.”

Clint shrugged, “Too many carbs anyway. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He smiled weakly and pulled Loki against his body. She could feel how physically labored his breathing was. She tried to pull away. “No, don’t I feel cold. Just…just stay close, okay.” That frightened her. His skin was on fire. She wished she still had her bathrobe to tuck around him, to try and make him more comfortable, or at least to wad up under his foot to get it off the floor. Maybe if it was elevated, some of the swelling might decrease. Their clothing had been confiscated after the first day. From then on they wore something akin to a prison uniform. She heard some of their captors talking the last time they shoved Clint back into the cell with a freshly blackened eye and clean bandages. They were clearly aware of his condition. They’d used the word _septic_. Loki wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but she didn’t think it could possibly be good. She needed to find a way out. Even if they were simply out of this building, wherever it was, they might be able to find help or a phone to call SHIELD or _something_.

Loki knew she could get herself out. She knew if she just pictured her bedroom and let herself go, she could be home. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if she should reveal that ability. She didn’t know what was going on back in New York, she didn’t know if Thor had been back or if SHIELD themselves had made any progress on figuring out what exactly she was using her DNA. Loki had also resolved that she was not leaving without the Hawk. She did not think that she would be able to make him disappear with her in her weakened state—she wasn’t sure how it would work, if it would even be safe, with how _twitchy_ her magic had become after being repeatedly electrocuted. Maybe Fitz was right about the energies she manipulated being some form of electrical impulse.

She waited for Clint to fall into fevered slumber before she slipped out of his embrace. She tried to relax; she needed to if this was going to work. She would have to sustain the illusion for some time. Loki closed her eyes and disappeared. As she reappeared in the hallway outside the cell, a copy of herself sat huddled against the wall just out of Clint’s reach. She stuck her fingers into the back of her mouth to pop the communication device off of her molar. She held it in her palm and watched it disappear in a tiny explosion of green-gold energy that gave her an inordinate amount of satisfaction.

***

“Sir, I believe I may have triangulated the signal associated with the communications devices agents Ferguson and Barton are equipped with. They appear to be somewhere near the Sea of Marmara.”

“J, you are amazing. I could kiss you.” Tony pressed his lips to the screen of his tablet.

“Quite unnecessary, Sir, but thank you.”

Steve shot up out of his seat, ready to hop in a quinjet and go. Natasha put a hand on his chest, “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right. It’s clear that they’re both severely injured. Quite honestly, I don’t know how Clint isn’t dead yet. We need to make sure we’re going to get in and get out in the most efficient way possible otherwise we’re risking losing them and getting ourselves into serious trouble.” Steve took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew Natasha had as much invested in this as he did, even if she was quieter about it. “You okay?”

He nodded, “Suit up.” Steve returned a few moments later, pulling the cowl over his head as he came through the door. Tony was slamming his fingers against tablet screens and buttons. Natasha followed Steve back through the door, adjusting the electrical cartridges around her wrists. “Shit. Shit! SHIT!” Natasha asked what was wrong. “Onheil’s communicator just went offline. I still have Clint, but I’m not even getting white noise from her.”

“We need to go now. Where’s Bruce?” Tony blinked in confusion for a moment. “Where’s Bruce? We may need the other guy.” Tony shook his head, “He went back to Calcutta. Don’t you pay attention? He hasn’t been here since the day Clint and Onheil left.” Steve felt frustration boil up inside of him. “Fine. Whatever. You can fill me in later. I’ve had a bit more on my mind than where Bruce wandered off to.” Natasha gave him a stern look that he shrugged off. He pointed at Tony, “Suit up.”

***

Loki crept through the unfamiliar corridors, trying to find an exit—trying to find a route that would put the least stress possible on Clint’s body. She heard a familiar voice telling his wife that he’d be home in time for dinner. She eased through the door. His back was turned. He finished his call and slipped the phone into his pocket. She tapped him on the shoulder. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to shout. Loki put a finger to her lips and he obeyed, fear painted across his face. She put her hand on his chest and he was tossed across the room, sliding hard across the floor on his back. She stood over him and crouched down. Gold light shimmered over her body and she rolled her neck, her more familiar body feeling completely alien after being out of use for so long.

Loki grinned down at the man beneath him. “Do not make a sound. Only nod.” The man nodded. “Good, a quick learner. Do you know who I am?” The man shook his head. Loki frowned, “Too bad.” He let himself go, his fingertips turned blue. The color raced up his arms and crawled up his face. He knew his eyes had become red when the man’s own widened and he made a choked sound. “You hurt my friend.” The man nodded. Loki laughed. “He might lose his foot.” The man nodded again. Loki put his hand out, palm up, willing a dagger to appear. Instead, a sharp, jagged icicle formed. Loki shivered at the memory of Laufey hovering over Odin, the same weapon in his hand. It would have to do. He lowered the needlepoint tip toward the man’s eye. “I believe in an-eye-for-an-eye. Or, in this case a foot.” He rose from his crouched position and sliced cleanly through the man’s ankle with the frozen weapon in his hand. The man screamed in agony. Loki crouched again and clamped his free hand over the man’s mouth. The skin around it began to sizzle and blacken. “I said not to make a sound,” Loki hissed. The man’s eyes rolled back with the pain, he fell silent. “You know, if my friend does not get medical attention soon, he may lose his life.” Loki took his hand away from the man’s face. He began to plead quietly when Loki gripped the icicle in both hands. “What’s that? I can’t hear you. Perhaps if I get closer?” Loki leaned forward and plunged the ice through the man’s chest. He shuddered and fell silent while he bled. Loki pulled the icicle out of its fleshy sheath and chucked it at the wall, watching it shatter on contact. He leaned forward, putting his ear near the man’s lips. “What was that? Nothing?” He stood and shrugged. As he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, gold light shimmered over his body. Loki was Onheil once more.

She stalked the halls quicker, knowing that she had just cut her time much shorter. She turned down a corridor and the air felt less stagnant. It had to be a way out. She disappeared.

The illusion of herself shimmered and faded as she roused Clint. “You must wake up. We need to go. We need to go now.” She gripped the chain linking his wrist to the wall and it melted away like water. She helped him to his feet, trying to get him to lean his weight on her as they moved. She touched the cell door and found it unlocked. She was almost insulted at the lax security.

They were moving too slowly. “Clint. Close your eyes.” He complied without question. Loki relaxed as much as she could and made them disappear. She moved them several feet at a time, trying to find that not-as-stagnant air once more. There was shouting. There was shooting. She grinned and felt around, reaching out with her magic to leave more copies of herself behind. They laughed. They dodged. They incited mayhem. It was glorious. But most importantly, it diverted attention from her actual self and the dying man beside her.

Finally, she felt fresh air. Beautiful, fresh, humid air. They must be near a body of water. “Mr. And Mrs. Lewis, why are you leaving the party so early?” Loki barely had time to turn and face Lukin. His arm was already raised. Her magic was to stretched out. She was too tired. She could not deflect the bullet that came hurtling toward her and ripped through the flesh of her side. She cried out her magic came hurtling back toward her. She put a shaky hand up and let the full force of it fly toward Lukin. Aleksander’s body flew backward down the corridor. Pipes and metal lines and light bulbs exploded in his wake. She caught her breath and turned Clint around once more, half dragging him through the door and out into the night air.

***

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“Still getting those pings?”

“Indeed, Sir. I believe you are zeroing in on the target.” The quinjet hurtled through the sky. Natasha was pushing it to the limits of its capabilities. “Mr. Stark, you are now within a mile of the target. I think that if you or Captain Rogers intend on jumping, you may want to do so now.”

Steve didn’t have to be told twice. Natasha was already opening the hatch. He gripped his shield and dove off the edge, Tony following close behind in the Iron Man suit.

***

Loki heard familiar music. It was faint. She was nearly positive she was imagining it. She had dreamt of Germany far too often in the past several days. _I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will ‘cause I shoot to thrill and I’m ready to kill._

She looked up and saw what she thought might be a shooting star. She brushed the notion away and continued to force Clint to move forward. “C’mon, Hawk. We’ve gotta fly.” He grunted and proclaimed that he couldn’t move any farther.

“No.” His voice was firmer than it had been in a while. She relented and lowered him down against a concrete retaining wall. “Stay.” She turned and started to move back toward the building they’d just emerged from. She’d pull a gun off of someone and give it to him. He could at least be armed while she tried to find a vehicle she could use to move them away from this place. She could swear she could hear someone calling her chosen name. She ignored it. Auditory hallucination. There had been some mention of the possibility during her preparations for interrogation back at SHIELD. That had to be it.

“Onheil!”

It was far too clear. She turned around and her breath hitched in her throat. She really must have been hallucinating. The Captain was racing toward her in full regalia. His eyes grew wide and he put a hand up, “NO!” She barely felt the bullet rip through her side. She was more annoyed than anything. The previous wound had only just stopped bleeding. She did feel the intensity of the explosion that followed. It knocked her from her feet and left her sprawled on the ground. And then, out of nowhere, the Captain was scooping her up off the ground. Her body sagged into his arms, curving into the inner surface of his shield. She touched his face, just to make sure he was real. “You came for me.”

Steve smiled sadly, “Of course I came for you. I’m broken without you.”

Loki’s world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
> 
> So, this thing broke 10,000 hits a few chapters back. I'm in awe. Seriously guys, you're amazing for continuing to read and for supporting these characters. I love hearing from everyone and having conversations/debates about the characters in general and the characters the way they are being portrayed in the story.
> 
> Again, if there's anything anyone wants to see more of or something you want to see in general, please let me know and I will do my best to incorporate it if it fits with the flow of the story. It's the very least I can do to thank you guys for the support you've given me and the story.
> 
> I'm curious to know how everyone wound up here, let me know in the comments! I know I found AO3 via tumblr recommendations, is that how you found me? Or did I pop up in a search? I think Loki is curious as well. He wants to know how all you Midgardians found his hiding place.
> 
> Steve would love to see some artwork from all of you! If you stumble across art inspired by the story, or have created some yourself, please share! **DrCHolmesLecter** had mentioned she wanted to draw Onheil in her different historical fashion looks and we've been dying to see some art ever since. Or if you find a picture that reminds you of a scene or a character or what have you, please do link. Steve has helped me draw a few scenes and he'd love to know if the vision all of you have is similar to or completely different from the vision we have.
> 
> Oh! And for those not in the US, the SAT and ACT are standardized tests that one needs to take to get into college. SUNY is the State University of New York, a network of colleges that FIT belongs to.
> 
> Did everyone catch the "Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" movie reference? I hope **Suheyla** also enjoyed the Jotun Loki bit that it involved.
> 
> And of course, the familiar music Loki hears at the end is "Shoot to Thrill" by AC/DC, Iron Man's theme.
> 
> As ever, thank you so much for reading and for all the comments/feedback and the kudos. Steve, Loki, and I are giving you all a big, interwebs group hug.


	53. Theories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team brings Onheil and Clint back to New York. Tony sticks his nose where it may or may not belong.

Steve had to fight the urge to stop where he was and just hold her as close as he could. He had to move forward. He wasn’t sure what exactly had caused that explosion, but he didn’t plan on sticking around and getting the both of them blown to bits. “Tony, I’ve got Onheil. I don’t see Barton.”

She’d been moving back into the building. Why on earth she would go back inside he wasn’t sure. Barton wasn’t with her; maybe she’d been going back for him. She’d said that she wouldn’t leave without him. He’d shouted her name, trying to get her attention. They were there. There were SHILED units moving in for support. She didn’t have to go back. She could find shelter in the quinjet and wait for them to bring Barton out. She turned and scrutinized him for a moment as he ran toward her. The door she’d been headed for opened and a figure was silhouetted in the red emergency lights inside. The figure raised its arm. “NO!” He shouted as the man fired. Onheil clutched her side, the fabric of the dirty, tattered garment she was wearing was already dark and the area spread further. She’d been able to deflect the bullet when Fury shot at her—why not now? Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The spark from the firearm grew in size and became a giant fireball from the doorway, the force of which knocked Onheil forward. He went into autopilot, swinging his shield in front of his core and persisting in his race forward. He skidded to a stop in the dirt and patted down the smoldering fabric on her body before scooping her up off the ground.

“I’ve got it Cap, get her back to the quinjet.” Tony’s music blasted in Steve ear at a level just slightly lower than his voice. Steve ran for the jet Natasha was landing near the edge of the water, trying to keep his arms as steady as he could so he didn’t jostle Onheil’s body too severely. “Found the Hawk. He’s sitting by the retaining wall at the edge of the property. I’m going in to get him.” Iron Man zipped by overhead, flying in the direction of the wall. Steve could hear Tony talking to Clint when he landed beside the archer. “Clint? Hey, buddy. You don’t look so hot. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” He could hear the vague sounds of Clint moaning and protesting, it sounded like he wasn’t going to go without Onheil. “Spangles has her. C’mon, we’ve gotta get out of here. Can you stand?” There was some shuffling and an agonized groan.

Natasha rose from her seat in the cockpit and moved quickly toward Steve as he stepped back into the open hatch. “Barton?” She helped him load Onheil into a seat and buckle her into it. “Stark’s trying to get him moving. Aren’t you listening?” He tapped the side of his head where his communicator was hidden beneath his mask and cowl. Natasha nodded shortly and waved Steve away while she flipped up the sides of the headrest to immobilize Onheil’s head. “Just wanted to make sure I heard correctly.” Steve hesitated for a moment. Onheil’s eyes fluttered open, slid around unfocused and closed again. Her lips moved but no sound came out. “I’ve got her.” Steve nodded and headed back outside to direct the SHIELD agents that were arriving to secure the building in quinjets and jeeps. He loved her, but this wasn’t _just_ about her. She was safe, but this was still an on-going operation.

“Clint, I can’t get you out of here if you don’t let me help you. You can barely stand. Just let me carry you, damnit!” There was a much louder groan than before. Steve glanced up and heard the boosters from the Iron Man suit overhead. Clint’s limp body was cradled tightly against Tony’s chest. “Hawkeye and Iron Man heading back to the quinjet. Is the hatch open or do I need to blast my way inside?” Natasha scolded him and confirmed that the hatch was open and waiting.

Steve described the explosion he witnessed to a young agent who identified himself as the unit’s bomb expert. “Cap! Cap!” Steve stopped and listened to the communicator. Tony was using the relaxed tone he took on when he was recently freed from the physical confines of the Iron Man suit. “Cap, Onheil’s burned pretty bad and Barton just passed the fuck out. We need to get them to medical, like, yesterday. If you’re coming then you need to get back here _now_.” Steve turned to May as she jogged up beside him. She laid a hand on his arm for a moment as she passed as if to let him know that they had everything under control. Assured that they did, he took off at a sprint for the quinjet. No sooner than he stepped onto the platform, Natasha closed the hatch and lifted off. She pushed the jet just as hard back to New York as she had coming to the edge of the Sea of Marmara.

***

When Clint fell asleep, Onheil had been close to him. She’d had no fresh wounds that he could see. When he woke, the front of her jumpsuit was splattered with blood. Had they taken her out again?

Clint closed his eyes without protest. He just had to trust her. He knew he couldn’t get out on his own. He didn’t have the energy to be confused. He could hear shouting and gunfire and laughing that sounded really eerily like Onheil—he knew it couldn’t be though; she was standing right beside him. She wasn’t going to leave him here. He hoped she didn’t notice the wetness on his face that wasn’t just sweat.

Somehow, they made it outside. He neither knew nor cared how she’d found the exit. She was moving so purposefully. He just had to trust her. She deposited him against a retaining wall and told him to stay. She disappeared around the other side of the wall again. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leaveme. Please dontleaveme. Pleasedontleaveme.” Clint fought to hold onto consciousness. The world was spinning around him. He knew the gunshot wound in his foot had become infected. At least the shot hadn’t gone completely through—the round had broken up into fragments that were still in his flesh—a wound would mean less healing time than a big hole all the way through his foot. He knew the infection had spread into his leg. He was terrified that it had migrated from the tissue into his blood. He knew if he went septic out here he’d never see home again. He’d never see Natasha.

What he wouldn’t give to have her beside him. Even if it was for another round of cognitive recalibration. Just to hear her voice again. To catch a whiff of that perfume she didn’t think anyone noticed she wore. She’d worn it once on a mission years ago. He’d commented that it smelled nice. She’d worn it every day after.

Natasha was going to kill him for kissing Onheil. And for…whatever that had been down in the hotel basement. He knew she was acting. He knew she was in love with Steve as much as he was in luuaaahhh—a complicated relationship with Black Widow. It meant nothing. Nada. Nic. Niets. Niente. Nichego. He couldn’t call to mind any other ways to say it at the moment. He’d started shivering again. If it meant nothing then why did it feel like it meant everything?

Never since the whole Tesseract debacle had it been so utterly silent in his head as when Onheil’s lips were pressed against his. As when her tongue slid across his teeth. As when her breath was hot on his face and her arms were around him. It was so quiet; he actually found the room in his brain to process the thought that it was quiet. Then down in that basement, when she had grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled him close, he was sure she’d be able to hear his heartbeat—he was sure the device fitted over his tooth was picking up the sound and broadcasting it all over SHIELD. He froze. He didn’t know what to do.

No, that was a lie. He did know what to do—or what he wanted to do, at least. But that wouldn’t be right. First, because she was his friend. Second, because he respected her more than that. She was more than just an attractive woman. She was strength and intelligence and creativity and challenge and light and fire. Third, because he didn’t want to hurt Natasha—though maybe that should have been first on the list. Finally, because Steve was his friend. But Steve didn’t seem to have much self-control lately. He was pretty sure Steve would put a boot up his ass at the _very_ least. When she told him to lift her up, he’d just followed her lead. She seemed to have a plan. Then she rolled her body against him and he nearly lost it. The voices in his head started to scream all at once and all he could find to focus on was how aroused he was and how smooth and wonderful the skin of her neck was and how her hair smelled like coconut.

It had taken everything in him to set her back down and walk on shaky legs back to the ballroom. It took everything and then some to keep his focus on Rumlow and Lukin and the mission. When they got back to their suite, he steered clear of her. He poured his attention into methodically disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling his gun. He took inventory of his ammunition. He checked the room for bugs again. He checked that the weapon hidden beneath the table by the door was still there and still loaded. Finally, he couldn’t avoid bed any longer. He was falling sleep where he was sitting and he really didn’t want to have a crick in his neck the whole flight home. Especially when Onheil had already proven that she was completely incapable of sitting still and being quite in a confined space.

When she asked him if he’d felt anything, he lied. He’d felt everything. And then she’d said she wasn’t going to leave without him and he’d felt himself break into a million little pieces.

He wasn’t stupid. Even with the fever and the beatings and the exhaustion, he knew what was going on. She was doing more to protect him than forcing her share of their meager daily meal onto him and trying to keep the interrogators away from him physically and with that weird force-field thing she did. Sometimes he felt like something was forcing him to sleep, and not just that the fever was burning through his energy reserves. When he woke from those slumbers—those gloriously dreamless, quiet slumbers—he could feel his leg tingling like when a limb fell asleep and all the blood rushed back into it at once. One time, he could have sworn that he saw the green stuff dancing over his skin. He chalked it up to delirium from the infection and dehydration; he pretended she wasn’t doing magic on him—because that’s what he’d finally decided it was. She wasn’t a mutant. She wasn’t human. She was magic. It was the only way he could figure out how to explain it.

He hadn’t been delirious enough to not recognize the absolute lack of dignity involved in allowing Stark to carry him like a bride back to the quinjet. Natasha helped Tony strap him into one of the seats. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. She knew. She always knew.

He promptly passed out.

He was roused by the sound of the Captain’s distressed shouting. When he forced his eyes open Onheil’s body was taut as a bowstring, straining against the straps holding her into the seat. Her body relaxed for the bat of an eye and began to thrash. Steve was trying to keep his hands between her head and the sides of the headrest. Clint called up what little strength he’d regained from his short nap, “Shedhabinasezer.” His tongue felt like it was made out of lead. He reached out and hooked his finger into Stark’s belt loop to try to get his attention.

***

“We’re still over the Atlantic, Captain, I can’t land. Whatever is going on back there, you need to deal with it in the air. I’m pushing her as hard as she can go.”

“I don’t know what to do!” Tony unclipped his seatbelt and started to move across the space. Steve shoved his hands on either side of Onheil’s head to keep her from hitting it too hardly.

“Clint, what are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself. Sit back.” Tony turned back toward Barton, who was slumped forward, finger hooked into Tony’s belt loop. Clint grunted and muttered something unintelligible. Tony leaned close, and asked him to repeat himself. Clint looked frustrated and exhausted. “She’s having a seizure? We can see that, Clint.”

“Dunticher.”

“What?”

“DUNTICHER.”

Steve yelped and fell backward. Onheil’s thrashing slowed and stopped. Green sparks danced over his gloves. Clint grunted again, “Tolju.” He finally sat back, his chest heaving, and closed his eyes.

***

Loki was vaguely aware of being poked and prodded and moved and stuck with sharp things and beeping and muted murmuring around her. She wondered if this was what it was like to be in the Odinsleep. To be aware of everything but unable to react to it all. It was rather frustrating. People kept peeling her eyelids open and shining lights at her. There was the occasional screech or shout and then there would be silence for a time. When she finally forced her eyes to open by sheer force of will, everything was white.

Maybe she’d died and gone to Valhalla. That would be a cruel joke on her and everyone else already there.

The lines were too sharp. The smell that filled her nose was too bitter. And Valhalla wasn’t white. That was Steve’s heaven. Valhalla was beautiful and lush. There could only be one explanation. She was still stubbornly alive.

***

“Hey there, Rolling Thunder!” Tony clapped Thor on the shoulder when he hopped off the quinjet.

“I am too late? I received a communication. I came as quickly as I could, although I see that it was not quickly enough.”

“Hey! Be careful with that!” Tony pointed an accusing finger at the agents who were packing up the Iron Man armor he’d shed inside the jet. “It’s alright, big guy. We handled it. We got Onheil and Barton out and took off,” he pointed further down the runway where a medical team was racing away with two stretchers. Spangles was rushing with them. Natasha was still inside the jet, methodically shutting everything down—herself included. “The Calvary is back in Turkey neutralizing the threat.” Thor nodded. Tony wasn’t sure if it was just that he’d heard clearly or that he understood, he had this perpetually dazed and confused look on his face most of the time lately. Although, that could simply be a side effect of the fact that he had an intergalactic, multidimensional war to plan for.

“Walk with me. Talk with me.” Tony started toward the door that the group ahead had disappeared though. “I’ve had this theory—or, well, Bruce had this theory and no one would listen to him and he couldn’t stand everyone’s ignorance anymore so he took off for the middle of nowhere again—“ Thor raised a brow. Tony tried to get back on track. “What if…what if Loki was alive? Like, not just _not dead_ , but actually alive. And here?”

“That would mean that your realm is most likely in grave danger. Especially with the approach of Ragnarok.”

“But that’s just it! You said Ragnarok was supposed to happen, what, two Saturdays ago?” He stopped for a moment, remembering something Steve had said, that Saturday was Loki’s day so everyone should go out and make mischief. Funny that it was supposed to happen on a Saturday. “And it didn’t happen.”

“That date was to signal the beginning of the hundred-day event to come.”

“But nothing has happened to further indicate that the end of the world was coming. Yes or no?”

“No. For now there have been no further signs.”

“So what if you—and by you, I don’t mean _you_ , I mean Asgard collectively—interpreted the first signs incorrectly? What if the magical chicken just crowed because the sun came up, as chickens tend to do?”

“Why do you insist on mocking me?”

“I’m not trying to mock you. I’m trying to point out that maybe, possibly, you could be wrong. And that maybe, possibly, Loki isn’t looking for war. Maybe he just wants to…I don’t know…live?”

“If he is alive, he could have come home.” Thor’s voice caught in his throat.

“No, Thor, he couldn’t.” They made their way toward the medical wing in silence. They’d already rushed Clint into surgery. Onheil was being evaluated in the emergency room. “She was shot. I watched her get shot. She was already bloody; it didn’t look like it could have been someone else’s. I’m assuming she was shot twice.” Steve’s voice had that too-in-control quality it took on when he was fighting through an anxiety attack in those days before they finally figured out what was going on in his head. There was a nurse insisting that it must be someone else’s blood, that she couldn’t have been shot. There was splatter on the front of her clothing in a pattern that couldn’t have been from her own body. The only wound in her side indicated she might have been grazed. They were more worried about the burns on the backs of her legs and the fact that when Natasha had called in for medical support she’d indicated that Onheil had had what seemed to be a grand mal seizure. They were going to slap some burn ointment onto her and get her into an MRI as soon as possible. They’d already gotten what little information on Ferguson’s and Barton’s medical status was available and they had a plan of action. They just needed Captain Rogers to get out of the way and allow them to do their jobs.

Tony and Thor approached the Captain cautiously, “Steve, c’mon. She’s in good hands. They revived you, didn’t they? They’ve put Natasha and Clint back together hundreds of times. They brought Phil back from the dead for Christ’s sake. You need to relax.” Steve inhaled deeply and let the breath out shakily. He nodded and followed Tony toward the locker rooms to peel his uniform off.

***

On the third day of keeping vigil at Onheil’s bedside, Simmons came in to see what progress Onheil had made. She checked the electrodes on Onheil’s head, looked at the EEG readout on the screen over the bed, and compared the readout to the data she’d obtained over the course of Onheil’s training on the tablet she carried.

“I don’t understand it. All of the data says she should be awake and running around as normally as she was before.”

“Could it be the seizures?” She hadn’t had one in a whole 24 hours. Steve hoped that would mean that she was going to regain consciousness soon. Tony had finally shared with Fitz-Simmons that he’d hacked their laboratory computers and that he and JARVIS had been working on theories about Onheil’s DNA and abilities as well. They hadn’t been as insulted as Tony had thought they would be, they actually welcomed his collaboration with open arms.  Simmons frowned, the last seizure had by some cruel but beneficial twist of fate happened while Onheil was inside the MRI machine. The whole thing had been destroyed in the process, but right before her thrashing had become too violent—right before the whole room lit up like a bonfire with green-gold energy—they’d gotten some remarkable scans of her brain activity. When Clint was able to have a coherent conversation he’d explained that she’d had a few of them after being tased or shocked with a cattle prod. They’d gotten worse each time. He hadn’t told her what was happening, he didn’t want to scare her. He’d avoid touching her each time until she woke, before then, he’d always get shocked—more so after they’d used the prod. With that information and what they’d witnessed themselves, Team Science (as Tony had dubbed them) had come up with the working theory that the seizures and resulting energy events were her body trying to dump out all of the electricity that had been poured into it. When Steve thought about it really hard, it made sense. Hadn’t there been something about her powers being electrically or nerve-based? He wasn’t sure if he was making that up or not.

He just wanted her to wake up.

Simmons sat down in the chair beside Steve, “I really came to talk to you. How are you holding up?” Steve shrugged. He was barely holding it together and he was sure that everyone around him could see that. She asked him if he was experiencing any of his old symptoms and he laughed. Of course he was. He’d been experiencing them all at different levels ever since that weekend in Pennsylvania, even more so once they’d started playing with his medications.

His stomach growled loudly, interrupting him. He blushed and apologized. He hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday when Natasha had practically forced a sandwich down his throat. He didn’t think the gigantic cup of coffee that Coulson had dropped off that morning counted as a meal, either. Simmons asked if he’d like her to get something for him from the cafeteria. He silently appreciated that she didn’t try to insist he actually go with her to the cafeteria. “No, it’s okay. Tony is coming by later. Pepper made lasagna.” He chuckled when Simmons asked in her crisp accent whether Pepper used peppers in her sauce. It felt strange to laugh. He felt like he hadn’t laughed in years. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to ask her. Not like it’ll keep me full for long though. Curse of the super-soldier-metabolism. Body burns through everything really quickly. I’m practically always hungry.”

Simmons said she hated him for it. She wished he’d just get the slightest bit fat. Her expression changed suddenly, “Wait.” Steve jerked his body around thinking the readouts had changed or Onheil had opened her eyes and he missed it. “Super soldier metabolism. I’ve been approaching this completely from the wrong angle. If your metabolism is burning through the medications…” She tapped furiously on her tablet for several long moments. “Will you come down to the lab with me?” She glanced at Onheil. “Please. It’s important. I’ll make Fitz come up and watch her. He’ll sound the alarm and get you back right away if there’s any change. _Please_ , Captain.”

Steve squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Hey, Spangles, what’s goin’ on?” The smell of food and the sound of Tony’s voice filled the room. Steve explained that Simmons wanted him to go to the lab with her for something concerning his medication. Tony asked if Steve could eat in the lab or she needed him with an empty tank. Simmons said he could eat an entire Christmas dinner if he wanted to. Tony pressed the package of food into Steve’s hands. “Go. The most important thing you can do right now is make sure you’re healthy. What good is it going to do her if you’re catatonic?” Steve couldn’t help but be a little insulted, but he knew that Tony was right. “I’ll sit with her. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.” It killed him to drag himself out of his chair and follow Simmons.

***

Loki became aware of the sound of _taptaptaping_ to one side of her. She inhaled deeply in spite of the acrid smell of the air and turned her face toward the sound. “Hey there, Miss Mischief.”

“Stark.”

“Have a nice nap?”

“Where is Clint?”

“In his own room.”

“Alive?”

“Very much. It was touch and go for a while there. Almost crashed a few times in surgery. Had a reaction to the antibiotics they pumped him full of. Evidently he’s allergic to penicillin and didn’t know it.”

“His foot?”

“He’s keeping it. For now at least. They’ll have to watch it for a while. There’s still a lot of swelling and redness.” Tony sighed and placed his tablet down on the table beside the bed she was laying in. “I was actually kind of hoping he’d lose it. I had the perfect new code name for him. Hop-Along Hawkeye. Has a ring to it, no? Although, I guess even if he gets to keep his foot, I can still call him that when he goes around on crutches.” He grinned and said he was joking when Loki gave him a stern look. “I was joking. Geeze. So serious. What happened to the girl I met last summer, you know, the fun Onheil?” He studied her for a moment. “According to Clint, you used your powers to try to keep him alive.” She confirmed it, that she tried to shield him. “No, you healed him. Or tried to, at least.” Loki looked away. She’d hoped Clint hadn’t noticed. “So you’re pretty resilient, you have your own healing factor that kind of rivals Wolverine’s, and you can use your power to heal other people.” Loki stayed silent.

“Fitz-Simmons and McCoy finally announced their findings about your DNA and all the data they collected while you trained. Although, it wasn’t anything I didn’t know already. JARVIS finished the analysis months ago. They’ve decided you’re part of a whole new evolutionary level of mutants. Or not.” Loki raised a brow. “I don’t think you’re a mutant, though. I’m not sure I think you’re human, either.”

“What of it?”

“Are you really from Arizona?”

“No.”

“Are you really running from an abusive family?”

“Yes. But it’s not the exclusive reason that I am here.”

“Did you really stage your death?”

“No, I really almost died. I allowed them to think me dead so that I could live in peace.”

“Are you from Earth?”

“What answer will make you stop interrogating me?”

Tony considered her for a moment. “I don’t think I care if you’re from Arizona or Atlantis or Krypton.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“Because Steve deserves the whole truth. And you can’t hide forever.”

“Why am I being restrained?” Tony explained that she’d been experiencing rather dramatic convulsions and had apparently destroyed an expensive piece of machinery. He made the hand motions and noise that she had come to associate with everyone’s description of her magic. The restraints were to keep her from hurting herself or someone else. “Sir, I have the test results you requested.” The disembodied voice that usually occupied Stark’s home sounded from the tablet. “Thanks, JARVIS, I’ll take a look later.” He looked at the watch on his wrist, “Hmm. Been a few hours. I’m sure he’s itching to get out of there.” Tony crossed the room and picked up the phone that was hanging on the wall, “Hey, Fitz. Is Steve still down there? Great. Can you let him know that Sleeping Beauty is conscious? Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed seeing some of the story from Clint's perspective. The poor guy is going to be so screwed up when he finds out who Onheil is. I really didn't want to have a romantic interest as an element of their relationship, but it felt natural with the immediacy and intensity of their friendship that they may be something else there.
> 
> What is Tony up to now?
> 
> As ever, thank you for your support and comments and feedback. On a side note, as a companion to the story, Onheil has a blog. Feel free to get in touch with her. There is a link in my profile, but here is the address since AO3 won't seem to let me link it here as well:
> 
> onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com


	54. A Little Viking in You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is overjoyed that Onheil is awake, until he makes a disheartening discovery.

Fitz was hovering in the doorway between the office and the main laboratory. Steve had heard the phone ring, but not quite what the conversation had been. He really was trying in earnest to pay attention to what Simmons had to say. Cooper was on video conference. They were chattering about metabolism and ions and drug interactions and he’d gotten just a little bit lost. They’d been discussing the different possibilities for how to get the medications he needed into his system without his liver simply dumping everything. It seemed like the higher the dosage they gave him, the more quickly and completely his body processed it out. At the time of the Pennsylvania trip, he’d been taking the absolute highest dosages of a cocktail of medications allowed by the FDA. They’d asked him a bunch of questions about how he couldn’t get drunk. “It’s funny actually, I guess. When I drink enough to get anyone else plastered, I actually kind of feel more sober. Does that make sense?” Simmons’ had giggled nervously. “I’m not an alcoholic, Agent Simmons. I only did it once to see what would happen.” He narrowed his eyes at her and she turned slightly red. Apparently it actually did make sense with the information they’d gathered using him as a glorified lab rat—he knew they were trying to help, but that was just the way it felt. The more they put into him, the harder his body worked to get rid of it and the more efficiently it managed to do so. His extreme mood swings that weekend, they felt, were evidence enough of that.

“My thought is that, and please correct me if I’m wrong, Agent Simmons, if we can get the correct ions directly into his blood stream—and as close as possible to the target site—that we could bypass the issue entirely and keep everything at therapeutic levels rather than teetering on toxic.”

“An injection, perhaps?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide, “You promised you wouldn’t.”

Simmons gave him a confused look, “What? No! No, Captain Rogers. I’m not going to stick a needle in your eye, don’t be foolish. After all this time, you still don’t trust me?” Steve could feel himself blush. “No, just a standard injection. Something into your arm, like a flu shot.” She tapped her pen against her chin and stared down at her notes. “It would still need to filter through the muscle before it hit the blood stream.” Her eyes swept over his upper body, making him insufferably self-conscious. “Perhaps something to inhale? Like an asthma inhaler or those allergy sprays you stick up your nose?” That just sounded absolutely lovely. The serum had cured his respiratory issues only to force him to act as though he still had them. Still, it was better than nothing. “The lungs will dump it right into the blood stream, so should the sinuses.” Cooper nodded, agreeing. Simmons said she would get in touch with medical to see if there was any possibility that pharmaceuticals might have something viable to work with. Fitz was still hovering.

“Is there a problem, Agent Fitz?” He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should say whatever it was he had to. Steve’s stomach dropped, immediately thinking the worst. “Did she—?”

“Mr. Stark just called from medical. I didn’t want to interrupt, this is all really important.”

Steve didn’t wait for Fitz to finish. He leapt out of his chair, knocking it over. He was torn between wanting to stop to right it and wanting to take off out the door. The door won. He stood for a moment, silently cursing at the lack of speed the elevators always seemed to have when he had something important to do, before changing his mind and taking the stars three at a time. He cursed SHIELD for putting medical so far away from the labs.

When he reached her room, he thought he might die. Her bed was empty. He stood there for what felt like eternity, his heart pounding in his ears, praying as hard as he could that they’d simply taken her out for some evaluation or another, praying there hadn’t been another seizure, praying it hadn’t been the seizure that would mean she wasn’t going to wake up. His knees felt like they were going to buckle under him.

“Hey, Spangles! Took ya long enough to get up here, what was the hold up?” Tony’s eyes bugged out of his head when Steve whirled around and grasped him by the front of his shirt. “You gonna Hulk out?”

“Don’t make jokes, Tony! Where is she?!” He put the man down. Tried to regain control, “Please don’t say…”

“Whoah! Whoah! Didn’t Fitz give you the message? I just called down there to tell you she woke up.” Steve noticed Tony was carrying a SHIELD issued tee shirt and scrub pants.

“Then…then where—?” Tony nodded toward the bathroom door. There was the sound of running water and the doorknob turned.

“She was just brushing her teeth. Said her mouth felt like cotton.” Steve couldn’t help but let the tears that had collected in his eyes flow down over his cheeks when she stepped out of the bathroom door in her hospital gown, tugging the IV pole along with her. “Hello, Captain darling.” He crossed the room in a few long strides and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. “Steve, you’re suffocating me.” He laughed and pulled back, cradling her face in both hands and drinking in the details of her face. “Is everything okay?”

Steve leaned forward and kissed her with everything in him, “Yeah, everything is okay now.”

Someone cleared their throat and Steve turned toward the sound. Tony was still holding the clothes he’d brought into the room in one hand but had covered his eyes with the other. His fingers were parted and he was grinning like an idiot. The severe looking nurse that had scolded Steve in the emergency room that first night and had been the attending nurse for Onheil ever since. Steve disliked the woman. Very strongly. He’d taken to calling her Nurse Ratched in his head. “If you’re quite finished, Captain Rogers, I have work to do here.”

“Do they need to leave?” Onheil pulled herself gently away from Steve and edged back toward the bed, careful not to pull on the IV line or to turn around. “Aww, c’mon, Miss Mischief, you didn’t have a problem with showing that hiney off before!” Onheil narrowed her eyes at Tony and sat down. Ratched gave them all stern looks and went about her work. She pulled the monitor down toward herself and minimized the screens showing the EEG data. She scolded Onheil for removing the sensor cap for the EEG. And the blood pressure cuff. And the oxygen saturation sensor. Tony laughed and draped himself over the armchair that Steve had slept in the past few nights. “Lady, you’re lucky she didn’t rip the IV out too. She’d be back in her own apartment now if I didn’t convince her to stay.”

Ratched harrumphed at Tony and continued reviewing Onheil’s vital signs. “I suppose we can remove the IV. If you’re well enough to be moving around and planning an escape then you’ll be well enough to feed yourself.” They’d been pumping her full of a nutrient solution designed to keep her system going. Onheil stuck her arm out, demanding it be removed immediately. After that, Ratched requested she stand and pulled the privacy curtain around the bed after glaring pointedly at Steve who was hovering at the foot of the bed. The mattress squeaked. There was a moment of silence. “Truly remarkable.” Ratched was mumbling to herself. Steve could see her shoes but not Onheil’s feet. “Agent Ferguson, do you remember the explosion?”

“Yes.”

“Were you aware of the fact that you’d been hit by it?”

“Vaguely.”

“Agent Ferguson, you had second degree burns over most of the posterior side of your body from the blast.”

“And?”

“And now they look like healed scars. Like they’re months old.”

Tony cleared his throat and coughed out, “Healing factor!”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Stark, I was aware of that. Agent Ferguson, were you shot?”

“Yes, twice, I believe. I was too tired. I couldn’t deflect the bullets.” There was some movement of the mattress and fabric. Steve imagined Ratched was checking out Onheil’s side. It took all of his self control to not say, “I told you so.”

“Remarkable.”

“Are you quite finished? Yes? Then I’d like you to allow me some privacy. I am a person, not a curiosity for examination.” The nurse threw open the curtain and stalked haughtily out of the room. Onheil was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off the band-aid Ratched had put onto her arm. “Did you find pants?”

“Did you one better, got a shirt too.” Tony tossed the scrub pants and tee toward her and she caught them. She stood up and slipped the scrubs on under the gown and then hesitated and glanced at Steve before hesitating and turning around to remove the gown. Steve gasped audibly. They’d forced him out of the room each time they came in to check the progress of the healing on her back and legs. She _was_ quite scarred, but at least that meant that she wouldn’t have to go through the added process of farming skin and going through grafting surgeries that the physicians had discussed. Her tattoo was practically ruined. Much of it was blotchy and smeared with the scarring. Her beautiful, smooth, porcelain skin was discolored and uneven. It was horrifying. Steve was relieved when she pulled the tee shirt down over herself and turned back around. He wasn’t exactly sure he cared that her flesh was marred. It was more important to him that she was alive and awake.

Steve stayed with Onheil late into the night. They talked about everything and nothing. She very purposefully avoided talking about anything that happened in Turkey. “You cut your hair.” He ran his fingers over the short cut. It was shorter than he’d ever worn it, but the stylist that Pepper had recommended had said it would go well with his bone structure or something like that. He’d done it shortly after Onheil had left. He’d wanted to look his best when she got home and he’d overheard someone in the gym snickering and saying he looked like a dirty hippie. Onheil laughed at that. She told him she didn’t mind his shaggy ‘do. “I was contemplating whether or not I’d be able to braid it soon—make you look like a mighty Viking warrior!” She lifted her arms as if to show off her muscles and made a growling sound. “It would go well with the beard you seem to have decided to grow.” It hadn’t really been an active decision, grooming just didn’t seem quite as important as other things for a little while. She looked away and drew her knees toward her chest. He’d been sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, working his thumbs over the soles of her feet while she braided and unbraided the end of her hair absentmindedly. They were quiet for an uncomfortable moment. “Shave or don’t shave. Doesn’t matter to me.” She raised a brow, “You do look rather ruggedly handsome unshaven, though.”

Eventually, they wound up back in their original position. “How is Clint?” Steve couldn’t control the grimace on his face when she asked. He told her as much as he knew. They’d rushed him into surgery. He’d been pretty unstable. Had an allergic reaction to the antibiotics they gave him. From what he understood, Clint mostly slept, really only waking to choke down small meals. “You saved his life, Onheil, I hope you realize that.” She waved the comment off.

“It didn’t mean anything, Steve.” He asked her what she was talking about, as if he didn’t know. “Kissing him. The hotel basement. It meant nothing except to try and keep Rumlow from figuring us out.” Steve felt the blood drain from his face at the name. She snatched her feet away and he realized he was digging his thumbs in just slightly too hard. She crawled forward and mirrored his position, knees touching. “Steve, I’m here. I’m right in front of you. You have me back. You have Clint back. Forget about Rumlow.” She cradled his face in her hands and pulled him forward, kissing him long and hard. “At least forget about him until you have to go and find him. Let someone else worry for a while.” She told him his beard tickled. “Maybe you do have a little Viking in you.” Steve laughed and shook his head, “Nah,” he affected a phony and exaggerated brogue, “Me fam-lee hails frum tha Em-rald Isle!” She rolled her eyes at him in response.

There was a knock at the door; Onheil called that whomever it was could come in. It was the physician overseeing her and Clint, Ratched in tow and frowning. “Captain Rogers, I really hate to say this, but I think you need to go.” Onheil made a face and took one of his hands in hers. “Agent Ferguson is out of the woods now, from everything we’ve seen on all of her scans since she woke.” They’d stolen her away for a round of MRIs and CAT scans shortly after Ratched had left earlier. “And it is now two-thirty in the morning. She needs sleep.” Onheil pointed out that she’d been sleeping for three days. The doctor ignored her. “ _You_ need sleep, Captain. Passing out in that chair for an hour or two at a time when you can’t fight to stay awake any longer doesn’t qualify as having slept in the past three days. Don’t think anyone hasn’t noticed that.” He put his feet down over the side of the bed but didn’t make a move to leave. “Captain, please.”

Onheil sighed, “He’s right, Steve. You should go get some sleep.” She stroked her thumb over his cheek. Laughing and commenting that it’s wasn’t like a baby’s behind anymore. Steve said he’d grab his usual bed in the barracks. “No. Go home, sleep in your own bed.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Captain, Onheil has you listed as her primary emergency contact in her file. Anything happens, you’ll be the first to know. Well, the second.” Steve nodded, knowing that they’d notify Fury or Coulson first. That’s what happened when you became government property. And being an emergency contact wasn’t the same as being next of kin. He had no say in her care. That was all up to SHIELD.

“When you come in tomorrow, can you bring me some clothes?” Steve smiled, of course he would. He’d come in early and bring her breakfast too if she’d like. The doctor and nurse were still hovering. It was making him terribly self-conscious. “Shoot. I never cleaned out your fridge.” Onheil snort-laughed and said she’d only been joking. He’d been so serious when she left; she was trying to lighten the mood. “I said I would. And anything you had in there has probably turned. I don’t think you want to go home to that.” She made a face and told him that her spare key was still in the usual spot. If she buzzed Sue and Reed’s apartment, they would let him into the building. “Good, I’ll go over there tomorrow after work. I’m sure they’re going to want to keep you for a few more days for observation.” Her doctor said that they did and that Steve should really be going. He leaned over and kissed her forehead before getting up and leaving. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Steve did bring Onheil both breakfast—or brunch—and clothing. He hadn’t wanted to show up and ring the buzzer when he’d gotten back to Brooklyn at nearly dawn and when his head had hit the pillow he’d been out like a light and dead to the world until well past ten. No one said anything when he showed up late.

Onheil looked cozy in his sweatpants and tee shirt and hoodie, but he knew she was on edge. There was static in the air and every so often the monitor displaying her vitals—now being read with the same sticky sensors Simmons had stuck all over their bodies to give her more freedom of movement—would flicker or show a dramatic spike. He was afraid that she was building up to another seizure, or having what he knew from eavesdropping on the nurses was called a petit mal seizure—no violent body movements, but still a seizure none the less. No one came in to check on her any more often than they had before, so he tried to force himself to think that she was fine, just anxious. And he didn’t know exactly which squiggly lines and numbers represented what, so he could be reading the screen completely backwards.

“Who has access to my records? Aside from Stark since he seems to hack into whatever looks interesting?” The comment put Steve off. Yesterday, before Tony had left them alone, there seem to be something unspoken that passed between the two of them. Had he said something to her about what Simmons and Carter had presented? “I’m not sure, to be honest. You’re in for a classified project, so I’d imagine your records are also classified—at least at a higher level than most just here for general employment. Maybe Fitz-Simmons, Coulson, and your doctor?” Onheil nodded. She didn’t look quite satisfied with the answer, but she changed the subject. “If they would let me out of this damned room I would get my keys from my locker so you didn’t have to depend on Sue being home.” Steve shrugged; it was no problem as long as her neighbor wouldn’t be bothered.

He left after Tony appeared with another home-cooked meal from Pepper and a message that as soon as everyone was cleared that there needed to be a welcome-home-celebration at Stark Tower. Onheil made him promise that when he came to see her tomorrow that he would bring something from Cinnabon. Evidently Clint had been mumbling about it in his fever-sleep before they were picked up. He said he would and took his leave.

Not before Fury stopped him near his office. “Captain Rogers, I hope you realize that we’re being very lenient with you. Natasha as well. Both of you still have jobs to do, whether you have loved ones in the sick bay or not.” Steve acknowledged it and thanked him wholeheartedly. Fury just nodded and said he was glad to see that both Ferguson and Barton had made it home in one piece and were on their way toward recovery. “I’ll be back to my regular schedule, on Monday, Director.” He’d explained that he’d had his emails diverted so that any that weren’t exclusively for him to address would be taken care of by someone else. “There shouldn’t be anything lingering or undone.” Fury nodded, “Monday.” He saluted casually and stalked back down the hall, hands folded behind his back.

Steve arrived at Onheil’s building with a bottle of wine for Sue and her husband and a box of cookies for Owen to thank them for their trouble since he’d be arriving at dinnertime and without warning. She insisted that he shouldn’t have worried, they were as anxious to hear news about Onheil. She’d only been supposed to be out of town for a week or so and they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her since she said goodbye. No one had seen Steve around the neighborhood either so naturally, everyone was worried. Steve assured her that Onheil was fine. “She caught some bug while she was away.” Sue asked if it was the flu or something. Steve nodded. Or something. She wished them both well and let him go.

Steve nearly gagged when he opened the fridge. Onheil tended to buy everything fresh either from the grocery or farmers markets. Sometimes he wondered where exactly she shopped, the labels for some of the meats she brought home were from small farms in other states. He laughed to himself, “Maybe she does teleport.” The disadvantage of not eating things that were packaged or preserved was that they seemed to turn more quickly. He supposed that was why she never had much more than what she needed for the week and planned her meals meticulously. He couldn’t complain. Every time she’d cooked for him or shown up with leftovers, it had been something delicious.

After the fridge was emptied, he set to scrubbing it out. When he was finished, he dumped the garbage bags into the chute in the hallway, he stood in the middle of the living room trying to decide what to do. He wanted to let the fridge air out for a while. As he stood there, he noticed that his drawing was no longer hanging on the wall. He couldn’t help but be a little upset. Why had she taken it down? He’d ask her when he saw her in the morning. For now, he wanted to bring her some of her own clothes. She would probably be more comfortable. He’d bring her brush, too. She’d complained that she hadn’t been able to brush her hair in ages and made a habit of raking her fingers through it and wincing when she came to a knot.

He moved into the bedroom and found his drawing and her print of _Girl with a Pearl Earring_ lying on the bed. Maybe she’d been planning to switch their placement. He thought the drawing would look interesting in the _Girl’s_ place between her painting of the magpie and the girl with half a face. It looked like she’d done laundry before she left. The duffle bag she toted her clothes back and forth in was on the bed. There was clothing folded beside it. The fur throw was there neatly folded as well. He packed a few pairs of jeans and sweats and tee shirts into the bag. He didn’t feel the need to be embarrassed this time when he went into her closet to retrieve undergarments. He left the duffle bag by the door and closed up the kitchen. He stood there for a moment, making sure he’d put everything back in its place. She always got annoyed if something wasn’t where it should be. “Tea.” She’d complained earlier in the day that the tea from the cafeteria tasted like dirty water. He opened up the cabinet to find the mint tea she favored. Of course it was in the back, and he had to take out about ten different identical tins before he found it.

He read the labels on the tins as he put them back, opening some of them up and smelling them, each one evoking some memory associated with the scent. The handwriting on one of the tins didn’t quite match the others. When he opened it, it smelled like rosemary and camphor. A piece of folded paper was stuck into the inside of the lid. He popped it out and unfolded it realizing that there were actually two sheets. It looked like they had gotten wet at some point, that maybe she’d spilled tea onto them. The ink was smeared and he couldn’t really read much. One sheet looked like a carbon copy of a waiver with Onheil’s signature scrawled at the bottom. The other looked like a sheet of instructions, most of it obscured. Why would she need to sign a waiver to drink tea? Why were the papers hidden in the lid of the tin?

He put it back into the cabinet and put the mint tea into the bag with her clothes. He opened the door to leave and couldn’t. That tea tin was bothering him too much. What was she hiding? Why did she need to hide it? He took the tin and the papers back out. The herbalist’s logo and phone number was still legible at the top of the page. He took a picture of it with his phone and put it away again, overwhelmed with guilt. Tony was the busybody, not him. She was allowed to have secrets. He wasn’t overwhelmed enough to delete the picture.

When he got home, he was looking at the picture and dialing the number from his landline before he could stop himself. A woman answered, which surprised him, since it was late in the evening. She explained that they were open twenty-four hours to accommodate their customers and asked if she could help him with something. “Yeah, can you explain to me why someone would have to sign a waiver for you?”

“Some of our products are toxic if not used correctly. It’s simply to ensure that we can’t be sued if someone doesn’t follow the detailed instructions we provide them with or has an otherwise adverse reaction.”

“So tansy is toxic?”

“If used incorrectly, yes, sir.”

“And what exactly is it used for?”

Steve had to try a few times to make the phone catch on the base. His hands were shaking too hard. As well as he’d slept the night prior was just about as poorly as he would be sleeping that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Steve just opened up a can of worms.
> 
> Apologies for the lack of action in this chapter.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.
> 
> PS, this is my current desktop and what Steve is supposed to look like with his short hair and scruffy face.


	55. A Wedge Between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki attempts to navigate the rough waters of the post-mission world she finds herself in.

Loki decided that she very much preferred what she’d taken to thinking of as the _Lokisleep_. She didn’t like being prodded and examined and fawned over by the woman Steve called _Nurse Ratched_. When Loki asked him if that was her name, he said no. It was a character in a book or a movie or a book that had been turned into a movie…Loki wasn’t sure. He’d been babbling. She told him he’d have to show her when she got home. For now she was satisfied with the knowledge that the reference that the woman was a villain. It certainly seemed appropriate. Her attending physician was much more subtle in his fascination and didn’t quite order her about.

All she wanted to do was give the woman with her snub little nose a curly pink tail to match. The doctor could remain tail-less. For now. Instead she resorted to subtly shifting the chairs in the room with little puffs of energy so that Ratched was forever bumping her knees and shins into them. The mild torture was entertaining enough.

The most worrisome part was that everyone seemed to be well acquainted with the burn injuries she had sustained and what they now looked like. How was she to let the magic wash the marks away from her skin now? How was she to explain why and how extensive patches of skin had regrown and smoothed over but not that pearl colored, neat line down the front of her chest.

She didn’t want to explain it. They wouldn’t understand the reason or the mechanism. It would just make her seem that much more suspicious.

In the midst of Steve’s gentle badgering about the time she’d spent in Istanbul, she’d been able to glean bits and pieces of what went on at SHIELD while she had been away. Evidently, Fitz-Simmons had finally announced their findings on who or what she was. At least that explained partially why Stark had followed that particular line of questioning. That knowledge made her no less nervous about the entire deal.

“So,” the doctor sat down on the edge of the bed and balanced one foot on the opposite knee to give his tablet a surface to rest on. “You and Captain Rogers really are an item?” She supposed they were. “And you’ve been an item for some time?” On and off, yes. “And it has been a rather volatile relationship from what I understand?” Yes. Neither one of them was an easy person to get along with. The doctor nodded and tapped notes onto the screen balanced on his bent leg. “I’d like to talk to you about some odd blood work.” Loki just nodded. She wasn’t sure what that had to do with her relationship with Steve. “I just want to confirm a few things with you before I put them into your official records.”

“I think I just became highly uncomfortable with that woman in the room.”

“That woman has a name, Onheil.”

“And I don’t think I quite care. I don’t much like her.” The woman turned that snub nose up and crossed her arms.

“You’ve only just met her.”

“And she’s made a horrible first impression.” She shot an arm straight out and pointed at the door. “Out.” The doctor nodded. The nurse huffed and left. “Now you can discuss my odd blood work and what it could possibly have to do with Captain Rogers and I.”

The doctor took a deep breath and paused as if to collect his thoughts before speaking. “Well, first, I wanted to point out that no one seemed to catch these things on your initial workup when you joined the agency. Which is completely inexcusable, especially since you may not have been aware of some fairly important things. It’s not an excuse, but I suppose that it all may have been overlooked because it had nothing to do with the main task—which was identifying whether or not you were an X-gene carrier. And a basic workup doesn’t really check for these things…” He went on to explain that she seemed to have a much higher than normal white-blood cell count. When she asked him what that was supposed to mean, he explained that the cells were the body’s defense against disease. He felt that it might contribute to her amazing healing rates. Then he explained that her red blood cells were slightly larger than normal. Not large enough to cause blockages and clots, but they seemed to function by giving a larger surface area for oxygen absorption. His theory was that it was the reason she didn’t tire easily, that it served as a more efficient oxygen and muscular waste transport system. “While that’s all terribly interesting, what does any of that have to do with Steve?” The doctor shifted uncomfortably and chewed his bottom lip, clearly not sure how exactly he should broach the subject.

“You complained that you’d been recently ill—that you were just getting over an illness—when Agent Coulson brought you here for the first time, correct?” Yes, he was correct. “And—and I apologize, I promise that Dr. Cooper has not broken doctor-patient-confidentiality—and I understand that almost immediately prior to that illness you attended a weekend vacation with Captain Rogers and several other agency assets…and that there was some kind of conflict between Captain Rogers and yourself?” Loki turned her head, eyeing him from the side and furrowing her brow. She asked him what he was getting at. He pinched the bridge of his nose and was quiet for a moment. “Do you have any reason to believe that anyone would want to harm you?” Loki had to bit her lip to keep from laughing. She could think of a handful of people who probably would, but none that had anything to do with that weekend or the incident. She only shrugged. “Did you eat or drink anything that tasted odd? Or perhaps that you didn’t know how it was prepared?” She shook her head. She’d assisted with nearly all of the cooking that weekend and when she got home she only consumed what she made by her own hand. “I don’t understand it then.” She asked him what he meant. “You seemed to have huge amounts of thujone in your system. Quite frankly, I’m not entirely sure how you’re not dead.” Loki gave him a bewildered look and asked what on earth he was talking about. “This stuff, it’s a GABA inhibitor—it messes with your brain function. Make you hallucinate, gives you convulsions—messes with your brain in general. It can damage your liver and kidneys too. And you…you had enough in you to kill a person.” Loki couldn’t find words to respond with. “Are you sure your didn’t eat or drink anything? It smells like…” He scrolled through some notes on his tablet, “Smells like menthol. Like Vicks or cough medicine?” Loki shook her head. What exactly did he think any of this had to do with Steve? “Agent Ferguson…Onheil. Poisonings tend to happen in an intimate setting. Usually, it’s not a stranger who decides to carry it out. It’s someone close to the victim. By all records, Captain Rogers is the only person you had any sort of intimate relationship with at that point. And he’s had a well documented _interest_ in you.” She thought back to what had happened in those few weeks. It struck her and she felt utterly foolish for not having thought of it quite earlier in the conversation. She’d just been so thrown at the thought that the doctor believed Steve was trying to kill her—to poison her.

“Tansy.”

“What?”

“Tansy. As a tea.” He tapped on the tablet and nodded. Yes, tansy contained the compound he was so worried about.

“What were you drinking tansy tea for?” His eyes roamed over the screen. “It’s a bug repellant.”

Loki shook her head, “The tea is for…” She really didn’t have any desire to share this information with anyone. She couldn’t allow them to think Steve had done or was doing anything nefarious. He had a reputation for being obsessive over her that no one could, in good conscience, deny. “For birth control.” She felt her face get hot, knew she’d turned quite red. “I…I wasn’t sure. We weren’t using prophylactics. I didn’t feel right and I didn’t know of any other solution. I knew from…from past observations…from my previous life, people I knew then…that it would be effective.” She fought to keep control of herself. She drew her knees to her chest and stared down at her toes. “I think I prepared it incorrectly and made myself sick, to say the very least.” She explained that she’d experienced troubling symptoms, but thought that it was normal. “I did not realize I was _that_ sick.”

The doctor’s body visibly relaxed. He extended his arm and touched Loki’s knee lightly, pity-spiked kindness dripping off of him. “Onheil, were you pregnant? Everything about your medical history…your genetics…it’s all quite new to me. I don’t know if normal hormonal levels for any other woman are normal for you, I’m not sure if that would be very telling.” Loki wasn’t sure why that mattered to him. “Because…because if you were, then I’d recommend speaking to Dr. Cooper. Heck, whether you were or you weren’t, I’m recommending speaking to Dr. Cooper. Although, it’s already required post-mission, so that won’t be much of a problem.”

Loki drew in breath deeply, “I honestly don’t know.”

“But you’ve been pregnant before?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t recognize any signs or symptoms?”

“I…That…” She closed her eyes, tying to gather her thoughts. “That was a very stressful time. I really don’t remember much about anything I was feeling between the event and the birth. It wasn’t exactly a conventional pregnancy.” She stared at his hand until he removed it from her knee. “Are you now satisfied that Captain Rogers did not attempt to harm me?” He hesitated and nodded. “Is there any other strange blood work that you’d like to discuss?” There wasn’t. She hadn’t appeared to have any infections or ailments as a result of her time in Turkey. “Then I think I’d like to take the advice you gave to Steve and get some sleep. I’m suddenly excruciatingly weary.” The doctor nodded. He rose from the edge of the bed and walked toward the door.

“Talk to Cooper. It can’t hurt.” She nodded curtly and drew the blankets from the foot of the bed up over herself. She didn’t sleep that night.

“Wait. If you believed Steve was trying to kill me…why did you allow him near me?”

“We were watching. Closely.” He pointed toward the bubble over the security camera in the center of the ceiling.

She was pleased to see Steve the following morning. Evidently he’d slept in. She was happy for it. He’d looked painfully tired the day before. She knew that sleep often evaded him under normal circumstances, he truly needed it then. She questioned him as to whether or not anyone had access to her records. The last thing she needed was for it to be general knowledge that she’d nearly killed herself trying to avoid carrying Steve’s child. The last thing she needed was for Steve himself to have that knowledge. If it weren’t his religious inclinations that would be a problem, then surely he would see it as a personal affront. The Aesir men certainly had when they’d heard one favored wench or another had terminated or prevented a pregnancy. Their precarious hold on being _together_ again would surely be gone for good—and it would be entirely her fault. She knew that she shouldn’t feel that way. He was just as much a participant in their amorous activities as she had been. But it had been her decision to deal with things in the way she had. Throwing herself down the stairs just didn’t seem like a very appealing option. The last kitchen girl who’d tried that had broken her silly neck. It had taken a week to scrub the blood out of the marble. And she couldn’t very well walk into a Midgardian physician’s office and ask for care—they’d want a medical history that she couldn’t provide them with, insurance information she didn’t have. Things just weren’t _simple_. Not now that she was committed to this life. Not now that she was committed to being Onheil. For that fact, she was just as on edge as she was pleased about Steve’s presence.

Stark arrived with something that smelled heavenly. He studied her while she shoveled forkfuls into her mouth. She felt as though she hadn’t eaten in a lifetime. “I guess surviving on a slice of bread a day for a while will do that to you.” There was none of his usual lightheartedness in his tone. She asked him what was wrong. “Just…a project. Kind of expected the results I got. Was hoping I’d be wrong.” He looked away, toward the open door then crossed the room to close it. When he’d settled back into the armchair he spoke, “Have you talked to Steve?”

“No, we sat in silence for hours and then he commented on the weather and left.”

“You know what I mean, Onheil.”

“I believe that is between Steve and I.”

“Just don’t…don’t destroy him. Okay?”

“I think that he may be the one to destroy me, in the end.”

Tony squirmed uncomfortably. “So Clint was craving sweets while he was getting the shit kicked out of him?”

“Yes. I thought he might enjoy it. If he’s even awake.”

“He is. I stopped in to see him this morning. He asked if you were okay. Told him you seemed fine.” She nodded. “Natasha’s not fine. She sits in the room with him, but she doesn’t talk. He doesn’t try.” Tony tented his fingers beneath his chin. “Did something happen in Istanbul?” Loki laughed, a lot of things happened in Istanbul. “Between the two of you. Something more than…than what we all saw?”

“No.” She didn’t quite appreciate Stark’s new habit of interrogating her. “Why doesn’t anyone believe that it was simply acting?”

“Because no one believes Clint was acting.”

Loki spent another sleepless night.

***

“Mr. Stark.”

“Director Fury.” Tony puffed out his chest and put his hands behind his back, mimicking the director’s stance.

“Is there a reason my security feed goes out every time you step into that room?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Somehow, I’m sure that’s a lie, Stark.”

“Somehow, I’m sure that Pepper is scarier than you when I’ve done something naughty.” He looked down at his watch and then back at Fury. “Promised I’d be home when she finished her conference call. See you on the flip-side, Tall-Dark-and-Furious.”

***

When Steve came in the following morning, there was an uncomfortable tension in the air. “Hey,” she smiled wearily and leaned forward for a kiss. He turned his face and let his lips barely brush against her cheek. “Is everything okay?” Steve shrugged and placed the bag he was carrying, her bag, down at the foot of the bed. “Clean clothes.” Loki drew the hoodie he’d loaned her more closely about her body. He put a blue carton down on the tray table beside the bed. The aroma of cinnamon and sugar wafted toward her, making her mouth water. “Like you asked.”

“Thank you.”

“I cleaned out your fridge. Wasn’t much in there, but it was all spoiled. Sue asked after you. Told her you had some bug you picked up traveling.” She nodded and he opened the bag, took out a tea tin. “Thought you might like this.” She smiled and took off the lid, breathing in the scent. “I’ll go grab you some hot water.” He left without another word.

Loki didn’t know what was wrong. She didn’t like his behavior, this attitude; it was too much akin to the way he’d acted after his flashback on the paintball field. He was too cold, too distant. She couldn’t decide whether to needle him for an answer or to leave it alone. She decided the best thing at the moment would be to focus on herself. Getting up out of bed and moving about would just further prove to these people that she was well enough to leave. She was very rapidly growing tired of the feeling of being held captive and watched. She felt like a new woman with brushed hair and clean teeth and her own clothing that felt like a second skin—the way her leathers and armor used to feel. But Onheil did not wear leathers and armor. She wore beautiful dresses and well fitted jeans. When she emerged from the bathroom after brushing her teeth, she found Steve back in the room, setting a steaming mug emblazoned with the SHIELD logo down on the tray table. He went through the motions of filling the steel mesh ball that was in the tin with tea and dunking it down into the hot water. He seemed to be very carefully avoiding looking directly at her. He gestured to her boots that had seemed to magically appear on the floor beside the bed. “I bumped into Coulson and asked if you could have them out of your locker. Didn’t think you’d really want to walk around here barefoot if you plan on leaving the room.” She thanked him for his thoughtfulness. “You going to go see Clint before that gets completely cold?” He pointed at the carton he’d brought in.

She nodded, “Come with me.”

“No.” His tone was just a little too firm. “No, you go. I have to see Simmons and Cooper.” She eyed him carefully as she slipped her feet into her boots. What was wrong with him? He turned and left the room before she could stop him. She was taken back by it, insulted. If he was going to see Simmons and Cooper it must all have something to do with his condition. She shouldn’t take it personally. She should go see Clint before his pastry was ruined.

It wasn’t had to find him; he was in the room beside her. She balanced the carton with the cinnamon bun inside atop her mug and eased the door open to peek inside. The Black Widow immediately stood, staring her down icily. The woman moved toward the door and slipped outside. “Natasha—“

Natasha put a hand up, “Just stop. I wanted to thank you for not leaving him. From what we understand from the few we were able to capture and question, if they lost one of you, they were just going to kill the other. They never planned on either of you leaving alive. So I’m thankful. He’s…” She looked away for a moment. Loki imagined she could see the wheels turning in Natasha’s head, formulating what she was going to say. “He’s doing better. He’ll be on crutches for a while, but he won’t need an amputation. And I think he owes that to you as well. If what he’s told everyone who asks about how you used your energy to try and protect him, to heal him, is true—and I do think it’s true. I think that there’s worlds more that you’re not telling us.”

“Natasha, I—“

She put a hand up again. “Whatever you feel about him…you need to come clean. For his sake. And Steve’s. I know that there’s more between you two than any of us can understand, especially after having been through what you did together. _I’ve_ been through a lot with him. _I_ know what that feels like.”

“Not for your sake? Don’t pretend you don’t love him, Natasha. You wouldn’t be so bothered by this whole mess and by what you all _think_ you saw and heard if you did not. I’m not trying to come between the two of you. He is my _friend_.”

“Love is for children. Friendships are for fools. There are only enemies and allies, and those people can change places in the blink of an eye.” She started to walk away and Loki grabbed her wrist. She snatched it back. “Don’t be his enemy. Or mine.” She looked into Loki’s eyes as if she were trying to stare directly into Loki’s soul. Loki wasn’t even sure she had one anymore. Natasha stalked down the hall, her heels clicking with each measured step.

Loki took a deep breath and entered the room. She expected to see Clint barely holding onto life, the way he was the last time she’d seen him. She was pleasantly surprised to see him sitting up in bed, working the serrated edge of a pocketknife through the fletching on an arrow. There was a neat stack of them on the tray table waiting to be stripped. There were a few already done. The blanket over his lap was covered in the old fletching and bits of glue. “You two need to work on your inside voices.”

“You heard that?”

“Yup.” He never lifted his eyes from the task he was set to. “She won’t speak to me. She won’t look at me. She just sits there like she’s guarding me.” He finished the arrow he was working on and set it down with the others and his knife. He brushed his hands together, adding to the mess in his lap. “I feel terrible. I feel like I betrayed her.”

Loki sat in the armchair beside the bed. It didn’t look as though Natasha ever sat in it. There was an empty coffee cup beside the folding chair near the door. “Clint you didn’t betray her. You did what you needed to do to keep our cover intact. And I was the one that initiated everything. If blame has to lay with anyone, it should be me.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Clint, we need to talk about Istanbul.” Clint’s eyes darted around the room. His fingers fidgeted with the bits of glue in his lap. He spied the blue box resting on the arm of the chair she was in, “Is that what I think it is?”

Loki grinned and nodded, passing him the box. “You kept mumbling about them while we were in the cell. I asked Steve to bring one.” Clint opened it and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“I think I just came.” Loki snorted with laughter at the comment. She apologized for the pastry only being lukewarm. “No, no, it’s fine—it’s perfect.” He swiped his finger across the inside walls of the carton and licked off the icing he picked up. “Thank you.” They were silent while Clint slowly worked through the bun and Loki sipped the tea Steve had prepared for her. He kept offering her a bite and she insisted that no, it was all for him. She laughed when he finished with a satisfied sigh. “You’ve got something…just there.” She indicated the corner of her mouth and Clint ran his tongue over his own.

“Now we talk.”

“I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Not a chance.” Clint closed up the empty carton and chucked it across the room, easily sinking it in the garbage bin. He scooped up the pieces of fletching and bits of glue from his lap and made a neat pile of it beside the arrows and knife. He smoothed the blanket. He smoothed his hair. He rubbed at his sugary lips with the back of his hand. He did everything he could except for initiate the intended conversation. “Clint.”

“I know. I know.” He covered his face with his hands and breathed out heavily. “Can I just be blunt?” Of course he could. Wasn’t he always? “I think I’m…I think I’m falling in love with you. And I’m terrified. Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone else—not even ‘Tash. And I’m ashamed because of that. And I’m ashamed because you’re my friend. And I think Steve’s my friend. And you and Steve are together. And I respect that. But I hate it. And I’m starting to hate myself.” He finally uncovered his face and his eyes went wide as he stared at the closed door as if he expected someone to have been standing there. “Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.” She tucked her legs underneath her body. “I’m agreeing.” She put her cheek against her fist to hold it up while she peered at him. “I can’t return your feelings Clint. I’m quite fond of you. But I do not love you. Not in that way.” His face turned red and he looked to the opposite side of the room. “And I really don’t think that what you’re feeling is love.”

“Don’t tell me what I feel or don’t feel.” He went on to describe the way his head was so incredibly clear when she was close to him. How he felt less crazy, how the voices quieted. He hadn’t felt that way—the noise, the uneasiness—before the Tesseract, before the day that that _lunatic_ had stepped into his world from some other dimension. Loki tried her best not to be offended. She had been admittedly, slightly off kilter. But that was a whole other story. Clint told her how euphoric it had made him feel to kiss her, to touch her. How he hadn’t wanted to stop. How hard it had been to let her go and head back up to the ballroom. How he’d wanted so badly to end their evening differently but had actively decided to end it the way it had.

“And yet, the whole time, you were concerned for Natasha and her feelings. And as you said, you actively decided to end our evening the way that it did.”

“Yes.”

“If you did not care for her—if you did not care for her in a very complex way—why would you have those concerns?”

“I…I don’t know. Maybe because I knew she was listening.”

“I think that you are in love with the idea of me, of a person like me. Or perhaps it is that you are in love with the way you say that I make you feel, how your head gets quiet.” She reached out and grasped his hand. “We were in close quarters. Nerves and adrenaline were running on over-drive. We were both very high-strung. Our cover was about to be blown. Our cover was blown. I’m still not entirely sure how. Rumlow said he recognized me. I think he was lying. I have a special talent for lies and seeing through them.” She withdrew her hand and he finally looked at her. “Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t hate yourself. Focus on healing—your foot and your relationship. And I must say, your relationship with Red is even more bewildering than my own with Steve.” He chuckled and admitted that it was very complicated. “Speaking of healing and feet, how is it?”

Clint hitched the blanket up. His foot was covered with carefully wound, pristinely white bandages. It and his lower leg were still the slightest bit swollen but they no longer radiated heat the way they had. She helped him to cover himself again and really looked at his face for the first time. His cheeks and eye sockets seemed hollow. He had bags as if he had not been sleeping. He was all angles. He had none of his boyish softness anymore. But his eyes were still bright. He still had heart. He was still Hawkeye somewhere on the inside. “They said I could leave the room once I finished the full course of my antibiotics, so a few more days I guess. Then they’re putting me through physical therapy. They want to try to bring back what atrophied as painlessly as possible. Looks like you’re doing pretty well though.”

“Supernatural resiliency, remember?”

“So I guess you’re flying the coop soon?”

“I hope. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed.” Clint agreed.

“So you and Steve…how was he about the whole thing?”

“I think he understood. He was certainly jealous. He’s been jealous since you began training with me. It was rather entertaining, to be perfectly honest. But today…” She looked down at the mug in her hand. “Today he’s different. He was overjoyed and excited and soft and wonderful. Today it’s as if there is some frozen block that has been wedged between us.” She finished the last of the tea gone cold. “Perhaps whatever bug has bitten Natasha has also taken a bite of him.”

They spoke while Clint denuded the rest of his arrows. He explained that tomorrow he was planning on cutting and attaching new fletching. Toward lunchtime he began to appear exhausted. Loki insisted that he should have his meal and get some rest. They had a lifetime to talk. He had limited time to take advantage of being in the hospital to rest and recuperate.

Coulson met her at the door to her room, “Agent Ferguson.” He held the door open and followed her inside. She thanked him for retrieving her boots. She was beginning to feel rather naked without them. “Not a problem.” She sat down on the bed and he took Steve’s usual seat. “There’s not much need to be debriefed about the mission, and no one wants to overwhelm you or Clint at this point. When medical is assured that you’re no longer experiencing seizures, you’ll be allowed to leave the hospital wing. I believe Fury wants you put through a physical evaluation with Nikolaj. He thinks your abilities may have been affected by your repeated exposure to such high voltages. If the electrical burns on Clint’s body were any indication of what you experienced…well…we’re just all glad you’re both alive and in relative health. You’ll both be required, of course, to attend some therapy with Cooper. I’m going to recommend that at least some of it be together. I think that it will make it easier on the both of you.” Loki couldn’t do much more but nod. Coulson estimated that she could leave by the end of the week.

“No. I’m leaving tonight. Tonight, I will be sleeping in my own bed.” Coulson just shook his head and apologized.

“I also wanted to let you know that the person responsible for the errors concerning your initial blood work has been terminated.”

“What?”

“They’ve been fired.”

“Why?”

“For not doing their job properly. Whatever it was—forgive me, I don’t know the details—it wasn’t a standard thing to check for. But it still shouldn’t have been missed. We have a zero tolerance policy for people being lax in their responsibilities.” Loki was slightly baffled. Coulson seemed unfazed. “Did you and Captain Rogers have another falling out?” He sounded almost annoyed. Loki denied it, she did not know what was wrong with the Captain but she was sure that it did not have anything to do with her.

Steve did not return that evening.

He did not return the following day.

After she’d assisted Clint in attaching the new fletching to his arrows, the doctor came to see her. He was confident enough that she could leave the wing. Nikolaj would be expecting her.

Loki was almost excited to go back down to her training room. She found herself at the door more quickly than she’d intended. Nikolaj embraced her upon her entrance. He told her that he’d missed her. Training agents with no extraordinary abilities had become rather monotonous. She laughed and caught the staff he tossed her. She fell into a groove easily. They were both breathless and exuberant by the time Nikolaj declared the match a draw. “Seems as though you have not lost anything after spending time away.”

Loki laughed, “It would take far more than that to make me lose anything.” She sat up and picked the staves up off the floor, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

“So when do you want to test out those powers of yours?” Loki moved to put the staves back in their proper place and shrugged in response. “Perhaps when you are officially declared medically clear.” She thought that would be a good idea.

She spent the afternoon playing at battle with Nikolaj. When he decided it was time to call it a day—he was still baffled by her stamina—she made a detour for the laboratory floor before going to the barracks for the night. She knocked lightly on the door to Drew’s lab and was greeted by a sobbing, snotty mess and a tight embrace.

“I kept trying to see you and they kept finding reasons to keep me down here!”

“It’s fine! I’m fine! I’m glad to see you.”

Drew suddenly became serious. “I have to talk to you about your fingerprints.” Loki reiterated that she was not comfortable with Drew using them in a publication. “No, not that.” She pulled Loki into the lab and closed the door before showing her pictures and three-dimensional models and footage of Loki using her magic. She explained her theory that the force of the energy was altering the landscape of her fingertips. “It could be a good thing or a bad thing. You’d never be able to be traced by fingerprint.” She considered Loki seriously for a moment. “Is that why your background check came up clean?” Loki assured her that was not the case. She had not been arrested for any crimes in the past. Brought into custody by the Avengers? Sure. But never formally arrested. She kept that to herself. Satisfied with Loki’s answer, Drew declared that the moment Loki was allowed outside, they needed to go out to celebrate her coming home in one piece. Loki agreed.

On Monday, she could not stand it anymore. Steve had not come to see her since the day he’d brought her the bag of clothes. She stalked down to his office and pushed through the door without bothering to ask to be admitted. She was slightly taken back when she took in the scene before her.

Steve’s desk was pushed to one corner of the room, the chairs stacked against the wall between filing cabinets. There were files and maps and photographs and printouts of transcripts both new and old spread out in systematic chaos on the floor. Steve sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, scribbling notes. “I’m in the middle of something.”

He put down a stack of photographs and picked up another. Loki caught a glimpse of herself in a few of them. Rumlow and Lukin in others. Rumlow looked younger in many of them. The photographs looked older. Some of the papers were old and onionskin quality. Some looked charred. Some looked hot off the press.

“Steve.”

“I’m busy.”

“Steve.”

“ _What_?” He twisted his body around and his brows came together in frustration. “You’re out of the hospital.”

“Yes.”

“Good for you.” He turned back to what he’d been working on. “You look well.”

“You don’t.”

“I’m a little overwhelmed.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No.”

She sighed. She didn’t want to antagonize him. She did very vaguely have the urge to throttle some sense into him, though. He was acting like a child and she hadn’t the faintest idea why. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

***

Natasha knocked politely on Fury’s door before entering. “Director, can I ask why my access to facial recognition has been cut off?”

“Because you don’t need it presently for any sanctioned project.”

“Director, I need it.”

“No, Agent Romanov. You don’t.”

“Director—“

“Natasha, you are in over your head. Back off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I hate it. It's gross and rough and I didn't want to post it, but every time I tried to edit it, it just got worse.
> 
> I hope you all found at least a little enjoyment in it.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for your feedback.


	56. That's New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Steve work together. Sort of.

Loki made an appearance in Fitz-Simmons’ laboratory the following day. The young woman greeted her warmly as always while Fitz, ever wary around her, disappeared into the office. Simmons wished to discuss the long-awaited results of her genetic evaluation. Loki put a hand up to stop her. “Stark has already filled me in on the gist of things. You believe there is a possibility that I am neither mutant nor human. I am not sure what I can do to convince you otherwise and I do not wish to attempt it. You are all quite critical-minded and anything that I say will simply make you more suspicious.” Simmons’ cheeks glowed slightly pink. “I am here to ask about Captain Rogers.”

“What about Captain Rogers? I was under the impression he was doing quite well. Is there something you’re concerned about? Has he had an episode? I…I don’t really think that it’s me you should be bringing your concerns to…”

“Jemma—may I call you Jemma? We never really got past those formalities.” The young scientist tensed under Loki’s gaze. “Jemma, are you still using my Captain as a guinea pig?” She shook her head and said that was never her intent. She was only trying to help him. Hadn’t Onheil been the one to convince him to finally allow her to evaluate him as a part of his treatment? “You’re absolutely right. And I want to know if you’ve been playing games with his medications again.”

“No, Onheil, we haven’t. I really shouldn’t be discussing this with you, to be perfectly honest.” Loki made no move to end the conversation. “But I can see you won’t be vacating my laboratory until you get some kind of an answer.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ve started him on a new form of medication, an inhalant; something to deliver the compounds necessary to regulate everything directly into the bloodstream and the brain without having to be processed through the liver first. He’s been responding quite well to it. He’s reported being more stable than he has felt since he was first diagnosed.”

Loki crossed her arms and glared at Simmons, “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, I am. I wouldn’t lie about something so crucial. Have you noticed something that he’s not reporting to Cooper?”

“No. Thank you.” She turned to leave the laboratory.

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about, Onheil.” Loki nodded and left. Well, that was one bridge she’d surely burned. At least she’d gotten some form of an answer, eliminated a possibility. She’d have to figure it out herself. And to figure it out she’d go to the source.

Steve’s door was ajar when she reached his office. It looked as though some of the maps had migrated to a corkboard that had been wheeled into the room. They were covered by a network of strings originating from several thumbtacks sticking out of major cities. There were tacks in Istanbul, Berlin, Warsaw, Moscow, Tokyo, Buenos Aires, and others. Loki thought perhaps those might be command centers while the others attached to them like spokes on a wheel were field offices. She tried to commit the patterns to memory as she hovered in the doorway. There were photographs arranged in a vague pyramid shape taped to the wall, a question mark titled _RED SCULL_ at the very top.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Steve didn’t turn around from his position in the floor. His legs crossed, he was leaning back with his weight on his hands, elbows locked and staring at the maps tacked up in front of him. The floor was arranged in a much more orderly manner than before. Piles of information were stacked together and labeled with the names of cities and the commander in that city. There was a notebook, heavily laden with notes, sitting open in front of him.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

Loki slipped into the room and closed the door, turning the lock into place, and folded her legs down beside him. “Figured out anything important?”

“A few things.” He nodded toward the map and the pyramid. “You and Clint got good information. We got a lot more from the warehouse.” He nodded toward a stack of papers that were charred at the edges. “Melinda said they were trying to burn everything. Looks like they were pretty careful to keep transactions on paper rather than digital—no footprint we could reasonably follow—, which is why we didn’t realize this was really this, big. Most of the people we were able to bring in—the ones that didn’t bite down on cyanide tablets—didn’t really know much. Just what the immediate task at hand was.”

“What was that?”

“Milk the two of you for whatever information they could get then make you disappear more permanently. If the warehouse was taken, then their duty was to clean house before anything important was found.” Loki nodded. Crude, but effective. “Onheil, you killed two men.” Yes, she was aware of that. “And that doesn’t bother you?” Not particularly. It was in defense of herself and Clint if he remembered correctly. Steve just nodded. He didn’t need to know she’d actually killed three men. “Cooper’s going to want you to talk about it.” She thought he might. She wouldn’t argue. “Did you see Clint?”

“Yes. He’s doing well.”

“Good.”

“He’s been a one-man arrow factory. Says he wants me to practice while he’s laid up but doesn’t want me wasting his specialty arrows.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t have feelings for him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, I’m not worried about that.” Loki studied him critically for a long moment. He hadn’t once turned to look at her since he’d acknowledged her presence. She crawled into his lap, straddling him like she would a chair turned in the wrong direction.

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Steve was very purposefully staring over her shoulder, eyes focused on the map.

“Because I’m working.”

“You’re staring aimlessly at that map.” She put a hand on either side of his face and forced him to look at her. “Look at me.”

“Onheil, we’re in my office. In a government facility.” She shrugged and leaned in, pressing her lips to his. She giggled, “Scratchy. I like it.”

“Onheil, not here.” She kissed him again. “Onheil, please.” He closed his eyes, his voice dropped to a whisper. She pressed kisses along his jaw and fingered his shirt collar.

“Why? Because Stark might be watching? Or because Fury might?”

He looked at her hard and eased his weight off of his hands to sit upright. He grasped her face the way she was holding his and kissed her back, finally, and apparently with everything he had. “Because I can’t start this again.”

“Start what?”

“This.” His hands moved to the back of her scull his fingers threaded into her hair. His lips moved to her throat and she struggled to keep the sounds she wanted to make firmly behind her lips. She gripped his hair tightly—what hair was left with his new, short style.

“Captain darling,” she breathed. Was this a facet of his supposed stability? Boldness? If it weren’t for his words completely contradicting his mouth, she would like it.

“I can’t start this again if I can’t trust you.” He pulled away, not releasing her head. “And I didn’t think that I’d ever be saying that after what I did. But I don’t think that I can trust you to be honest with me. To tell me the important things.”

Loki’s heart was hammering so hard she was sure that Steve could hear it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought…I thought we were going to be okay.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Entirely.”

He released her head, “Then I can’t do this. Regardless of who may or may not be watching.”

His phone started ringing and vibrating in his pocket. Loki moved her hands to his shoulder and rose up on her knees to allow him access to his pocket. His cheeks turned red when he came to be eye-level with her chest. She sank back down when he pressed the button to answer. The volume was up loud enough that she could hear the conversation in the quiet of the office.

“Captain Rogers, is there a reason I can’t reach you on your office phone or computer?”

“They’re unplugged, sir.”

“And why is that?”

“I needed to move my desk, sir. I needed the floor space.”

“This is what we have conference rooms for, Captain.”

“I needed my own space, director. I didn’t want people interjecting opinions.”

“Fine. As long as you come up with what move we should be making next, I don’t think I care how you come up with it.”

“Yes, sir. I’m trying to work on it.”

“If you and Agent Ferguson are quite finished, I believe the two of you are wanted down in combat. Usual room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Loki finally peeled herself completely away from Steve. “Duty calls, I suppose.”

Steve stood and brushed off the back of his pants. “We’re going to have a long conversation, Onheil.” He turned and unlocked the door, leaving her standing there in the office alone. Aroused and infuriated and confused. And terrified that he knew more than she wanted him to.

Nikolaj was at a loss when they arrived in the training room on each other’s heels. “You need body armor or protection or something.” He passed pieces of Kevlar to Steve. “But if what comes out of her is anything like what happened in that MRI tube, I don’t think that’s going to help. Stark wouldn’t let us borrow the suit, that was the only other option I could think of.” Steve strapped himself carefully into the vest while Nikolaj set to work buckling straps at his legs and then helped him into the arm pieces.

Steve picked up his shield, “That’s what this is for, Nik. If it can block a hit from Thor’s hammer, I think it should be able to take whatever she can put out.” Nikolaj nodded. They’d be sparring as usual. Wired into Fitz-Simmons’ systems as usual. The only unusual thing that that everyone would be taking cover in Nikolaj’s office. No one was sure what would happen when Loki unleashed her magic and no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire.

They started off easily. The tension between them was palpable. “Stop holding back, Onheil.”

“You stop first.”

Steve rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He gave her all he had. He kept her on her toes. He came fast and hard. “Take up a new style?”

“Parkour.” He swung at her with the shield and she deflected the blow with a little burst of energy. “Started it while you were getting cozy with Barton. I was tired of you winning.” Loki couldn’t help but laugh. “Capoeria’s next. Maybe Krav Maga.”

They went on for what felt like hours but was probably not even one. “So far so good.” Loki nodded. Nothing seemed to have changed too drastically. She didn’t feel jittery the way she had in the cell with Clint when she tried to use her magic. “You sure you’re not holding back?” She darted her arm forward and back, releasing a powerful burst of energy that knocked Steve into the wall. He slid down in a rain of plaster dust. “I thought they were going to pad the walls in here?”

Loki couldn’t help but laugh. She extended a hand to help Steve up. He gripped her forearm just a little too firmly. He used the grip to swing her around. She went skidding off balance across the room. Steve came bounding toward her, shield raised to strike. Loki crouched and covered her head. She felt more than saw the wave of magic that rolled off of her and expanded as she moved. The sound of the stuff striking the end of the shield that was leveled to strike her was deafening, reminding her of the sound of Mjolnir hitting it that night in Germany. She looked up through her lashes and grinned, “That’s new.”

***

Nikolaj found his office already filled with people. Fury inclined his head in greeting, seated at Nik’s desk. Stark was busy bringing up every security view he could on the computer screens. Fitz-Simmons were bringing up their feeds from the sensors that decorated Rogers’ and Ferguson’s bodies.

“So far everything seems within normal parameters, director.”

At some point, Romanov slipped into the room. She stood off to one side, watching silently, taking everything in.

Some time after Natasha appeared, Barton crashed through the door in his wheelchair, bickering with the nurse that was trying to assist him. “I can do it myself! That’s enough! Thank you!”

“Hey! Speed Racer!”

“Shut up, Stark. They won’t let me on crutches yet. They say I’m pushing too hard.” Romanov helped him maneuver into a space near the monitors.

“Aww, look! It’s like _movie_ night all over again.” Stark waggled his eyebrows. “All we’re missing is the rage monster. Think we can fly Bruce in from Calcutta in the next ten minutes?”

Fury shot him a look and he made a zipping and locking motion across his mouth.

All eyes returned to the monitors showing Rogers and Ferguson in the training room. Rogers hit the wall. Ferguson helped him up and he practically threw her across the room. He bounded toward her, readying himself to strike. Fury had to wonder if he was purposefully telegraphing his move. Ferguson crouched down in a protective stance, covering her head to ward off the shield’s strike.

When the first bits of energy began to roll off of her, the edges of the screen began to crackle with static. Fitz-Simmons’ equipment was making insane noises. “Director,” Fitz cleared his throat, “I think that this might not be good.” The gold-green energy quickly expanded out from the body it originated from in a bubble of electricity and destruction. Crackles of lightening seemed to jump off the surface. Light bulbs popped. The feed became white noise for a moment. Warning bells were screaming out from the scientific equipment. Rogers flew backward like a rag doll, his body creating a sizable dent in the wall.

Ferguson looked up through her lashes and grinned, “That’s new.”

Natasha gripped Fury’s shoulder for a moment, barely perceptibly, and then moved away from his seat.

“That was amazing.” Nikolaj had been quiet to that point. Fitz-Simmons’ equipment quieted. The static faded from the view on the monitors. The cameras had switched to night mode in the lack of light. They could see Ferguson moving toward Rogers to help him up. “Whatever this creature you want her to fight winds up being, I think that she is more than ready.”

Fury rose from his seat, “Thank you for allowing us to invade your space, Nik.” He swept from the room without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the brevity. It just felt like a good place to stop.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	57. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki just can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:**  
>  Unpleasantness concerning Loki's decision making skills and possible pregnancy ahead.

Nikolaj’s voice crackled over the intercom, “I think we are done for the day.” The lights had exploded. Loki assumed the security cameras had too, or had had least been damaged. It was dark, but she knew the space well enough to moved toward Steve and help him up off the floor following the sound of his grunting. The glass from the lights crunched under her boots as she moved. Steve must have broken the wall when he hit it; it felt like gravel was on the floor around him. She helped him stand and they moved cautiously toward the door.

“You ever done that before?”

“No.”

“And you feel okay?” Loki nodded. Steve was watching her closely. “I just…I just don’t want you to have any more seizures. You could…” He looked away and ran his fingers through his hair, creating a puff of plaster dust around himself in the process. “You could really get hurt.”

“I’m okay.”

“Rogers, hit the showers. You’re making a mess.” Steve nodded and headed off in the direction of the locker rooms. “Ferguson, come to my office.” Loki followed him in silence. When they reached the room, Coulson was already there, leafing through a file folder. “Have a seat.”

She sat; Coulson gave her a friendly smile, his fingers tucked between pages in the folder. “We’d like to talk to you about something rather concerning.” Loki nodded and made a conscious effort to calm her breathing and keep her face a blank mask.

“When we went into the warehouse that you and Agent Barton were being held in, there were quite a few casualties. Most of them died by their own hand. We found cyanide on them. There were two, however, that were not suicides.” Coulson pulled a photograph out of the file. “This man, we understand from Captain Rogers’ post-mission debrief, was the victim of an accident. The gas lines near the back exit were damaged. From the little bit of security footage we found—it really was only trained on the doors for the most part, quite lax—this seemed to be your doing.” Another photograph, much grainier, showed Loki utilizing her magic to defend herself and Clint against Lukin just before they made it out the door. Loki acknowledged it; she hadn’t realized that she’d damaged gas lines. It wasn’t her intent. She’d simply not wanted Lukin to have the chance to shoot her or Clint again. “It’s fine, Onheil. You’re not in trouble for it. Just thought you might like to know that the person who shot at you before the Captain intercepted you had been…taken care of.”

Loki nodded, “I’m not sure how this was concerning.”

“ _This_ is what’s more concerning.” Coulson took out a few more photographs. It was the man she’d killed. The one who had shot Clint the night they were taken. Loki feigned surprise.

“That looks awful.”

“It does. Autopsy said he was killed with a sharp implement, but forensics couldn’t even speculate as to what it was.” Coulson’s phone started to ring. He glanced down at it then up at the director who nodded. “Excuse me.” Coulson left the room.

“Onheil, do you know anything about this?”

“How could I, director? I was locked up in a cell with Barton. When I was not, I was being questioned and beaten and electrocuted and nearly dismembered.”

Fury reached toward the photographs and spread them out. The ones below the facial shot were full body scene photos. “His foot was cut off. Same foot Barton almost lost.”

“I have no idea what happened to this man, director. Perhaps Lukin or Rumlow punished him for the messy job he did.”

“That’s the story you’ll be sticking to?”

“That’s the only explanation I can offer, director. I did not kill him.” It always amazed her how easily lies slid off her tongue. Sometimes she believed them herself. They’d never find a weapon they’d be able to tie to her. Not unless they had more grainy security footage than they were letting on.

“Then stick to it.”

“Is that all you wished to speak to me about?” Fury nodded and arranged the photographs Coulson had pulled out back into their file. “Am I free to go?” He nodded again.

Loki decided to pay her fellow captive a visit. She found him sitting in the armchair, his foot elevated. “What?! This is bullshit. Chloe is so much better. They robbed her.” He was focused entirely on the television in front of him. There was a woman speaking then music played. “Freaking Maddie…it’s always the same.”

“Who are Chloe and Maddie?”

Barton’s eyes grew wide and he fumbled with the remote. _“Did you hear that? That was definitely a girl’s voice. And look at the temperature drop!”_

“I don’t know what you’re taking about.” Loki moved to stand beside Clint’s chair. He’d flipped it to a program about ghost hunting on the Travel Channel.

“Chloe and Maddie are ghosts? You’re certainly sympathetic toward their plight…” She snatched the remote from his hand and pressed the button to jump to the previous channel. _“Coming up next on Dance Moms.”_ Clint was frozen in place, his lips pressed so tightly into a thin line that they’d gone white. Loki tucked the remote back into his hand. “Clint, you never cease to surprise me.” She began to snicker as she moved back around him to sit on the bed. His face turned red and he glared at her. “Don’t tell _anyone_.”

Loki put her hand over her heart, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” They passed the afternoon easily, chatting about everything and nothing, as was their habit. “That thing you did. That was pretty neat.”

“What thing?”

“That explosion thing in the training room.”

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw. It was a party in Nik’s office.”

“I guess no one is allowed to have any secrets here, are they?”

“Nope. Not if they’re interesting secrets.” He paused, furrowed his brow. “Come to think of it, not if they’re mundane secrets either.”

“Wonderful.”

“I think you should be part of the team.”

“Aren’t I already? I’m an agent. Although, I’m kind of the only person on the team at the moment. I haven’t heard of anyone else actually assigned to _Project Z_.”

“I mean _our_ team. The Avengers. We could use someone like you. We’re all muscle and ammunition right now. Thor’s not on Earth often enough to really be valuable as a constant player. But you…you’re here. And you’ve got some pretty wicked tricks.” Oh, if only he knew just how wicked those tricks could be. “I think you’d be an interesting addition.” Loki only nodded. Clint changed the subject.

Eventually, after lunch Loki’s attending physician came and asked to speak to her privately.

“During your sparring match earlier today, there were some pretty alarming readings when you unleashed whatever that force field was.” Loki asked if that meant she would continue to be held captive. “You’re not a captive, Onheil. We’re just trying to make sure you’re safe and healthy.” She sighed, she knew he meant well. He was one of the few people here who actually seemed to have her own best interest genuinely at heart. “Immediately after the electrical event, all of your readings returned to normal. The spikes seemed to simply be ones that we’d seen previously when you utilized your abilities, only greatly amplified. To be honest, I’m not really concerned.” He touched the sensor on the side of her head. “If there’d been any indication from these that you were having any sort of odd neurological activity, I wouldn’t be saying this; but I think that you can go home tonight providing one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Start taking these.” He passed her a circular container, when she popped it open she saw it contained multicolored pills arranged in some sort of order.

“What is this?”

“Tansy alternative.” Loki was quite sure she’d never been so humiliated in her life. She was also quite sure she would never use what the doctor was offering. She didn’t know what it was exactly, nor did she think it would be effective. Besides, she’d seen enough commercials on television. Blood clots, stroke, heart attack… She’d no intention of purposefully putting herself in that kind of danger again. It was bad enough she’d poisoned herself with something natural. She wouldn’t be poisoning herself with something chemical and manmade.

Later that evening, Loki had packed her bag and cleared her locker. Keys and phones in hand, she was itching to leave—to see the light of day or the neon fluorescence of nighttime in the city once again. She hadn’t realized how bad her cabin fever had gotten until the doctor had declared she was free to go. She stood in Steve’s doorway, waiting. He was packing his messenger bag and feeling his pockets to make sure he had all vital items.

“Your MetroCard is under the desk.” Loki pointed toward where she saw the yellow rectangle of plastic on the floor. Steve looked at her then crouched down and retrieved it.

“Thanks.”

“Ride the subway with me?”

“I took my bike in.”

“Can I ride home with you then?” He regarded her critically for a long moment as if he was actually considering denying her request. Finally, he nodded and pulled the helmet she usually wore out of a drawer in one of his filing cabinets.

The ride home had none of the ease and exhilaration of all of their previous tandem rides. Steve seemed to shrink at her touch when she wrapped her arms around his abdomen and locked her fingers together. The heavy early evening traffic and the distinctly unseasonable biting chill in the air didn’t help the tension at all.

Steve rode by his own building and headed for Loki’s. When he cut the engine she didn’t want to move. When he shifted his weight she took the hint and unlocked her fingers. When she removed her helmet she went to take her duffle bag from where it was jammed into his side pocket, he put a hand up and removed it himself. “I’ll bring it up for you. We can talk.”

Loki wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation. She wasn’t completely sure of what he intended to speak to her about anymore. She was sure that if it had been regarding who she was that he would have force her to talk at SHIELD—easier, immediate access to that mysterious cell meant to hold her. If she was to be captured here though… They’d certainly disturb the neighbors. But then they didn’t have to deal with her as a missing person. They could say she’d committed some crime and she’d been arrested and jailed. No one would contest it, not in this city.

She just did not want Owen to see them drag her away.

What was today? What was today? She was fairly sure that Owen had his activity night at the Y tonight. Hopefully he would not be home to hear her kicking and screaming. If they were going to take her, they wouldn’t take her quietly.

She chattered aimlessly as they climbed the stairs, allowing Steve to remain a step ahead of her. “I think I’m going to change my hair. Drastically.” Step. Step. Step. “I kind of like the idea of shaving the sides down. Perhaps like Ragnar on that _Vikings_ show you watch. Maybe not quite completely bald on the sides, though.” She was trying to get a rise out of him.

“You’re much more of a Lagertha.”

“I want to learn to ride a bike.”

“You don’t know how to ride a bicycle?”

“No. But that’s not what I mean. I want to learn to ride a bike like yours.”

“You need a learner’s permit. You’ll have to take a regular driving test too.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

They reached her door without incident. She could hear Samantha screaming behind the neighboring door when they walked by it. Loki unlocked her door, admitted Steve inside, and closed the door behind them. She turned the lock and slid the chain into place for good measure.

“Thank you again, for cleaning my fridge.” Her eyes swept over the room. Nothing looked out of place so far.

“No problem.” She took her bag from him and moved toward the bedroom. Nothing amiss there either, aside from Steve having removed the bag and clothing she was carrying, everything was as she left it when she disappeared and took herself to Steve’s building her last night in Brooklyn.

Loki removed the tin of tea from her bag and went to set it down on the counter in the kitchen. “Hungry?”

“Please stop trying to divert my attention, Onheil.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve was perched on the edge of the couch, elbows braced against his knees, hands folded together. She moved to sit beside him. “What is it that you want to talk about?”

“Before I say it, I’d really like you to tell me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Steve.”

“You’re not hiding anything? Not lying? Not purposefully leaving something unsaid?”

“There are a lot of things about myself I’m purposefully leaving unsaid, Steve. You know that. You understood that.”

“I mean something important, Onheil.” He looked at her and it seemed as though he was struggling to hold back a wave of emotion. She cupped the side of his face, rubbing her thumb over his jaw, trying to comfort him. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face so that his lips were pressed to her palm for a moment. “Something that is important to both of us. Together.”

“No.”

He pushed her hand away. “I know, Onheil. I know what you did.”

“What did I do?” Did this have something to do with the man she killed? What did that have to do with him? They’d never discover what had been the weapon that ended his life. Not unless they could reconstruct the icicle from the evaporated water in the air. There was no way they could logically tie his death to her that would actually stick. There was no way they could tie his death to _Onheil_. She couldn’t conjure up a deadly weapon, let alone one forged of ice and hate.

“I found…I found it. I called the store. They explained what it was for.”

“Steve, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He rose from the couch and put his hands on his head. When he spoke he was shouting. “Don’t play games with me, Onheil! Don’t lie! Not about this! Not about us! I know what you did!”

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Steve, you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“No, you don’t. Please sit down. And please stop shouting.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He complied anyway. Loki rose and went into the kitchen. She opened the cabinet and retrieved the tin that was clearly so offensive. She placed it down on the coffee table in front of him. “That.”

“That.”

“I found it when I was looking for that mint stuff. I never heard of it before. So I smelled it. It was odd. Then I saw the papers stuck in the lid.” He drew in a ragged breath. “I couldn’t understand why you’d have to sign a waiver to buy tea. So I called the store. The person who answered the phone told me what the waiver was for.”

Loki’s mind was racing. That wasn’t the only use for the tea. There were mundane uses for the oils. Insect repellants. The tea itself was recommended sparingly to encourage bleeding. Everything she’d read about it since she’d used it, everything the herbalist had lectured her over, indicated that using it the way they did back on Asgard was discouraged in favor of social convention and safety. She hadn’t known if she was pregnant or not. She’d never been sure then. She still wasn’t.

“The waiver is just to cover the store if something goes wrong, Steve. I wasn't planning for something to go wrong.”

“Onheil. You…you…” He seemed to not be able to bring himself to say whatever it was he wanted to. “When was it?”

“What do you mean?”

“When did you use it? After…after Halloween? Or…” His voice dropped to a whisper, “that weekend.”

“The latter.” Steve made a sound like he was gagging. “I don’t understand why you’re upset with me.” Steve looked at her like she’d just sprouted seven extra heads. “Because of what you think I did or because I did not inform you?” She crossed her arms. “I do not need to consult you on matters concerning my own body, Steve. Especially so not when this took place.”

“I would have…I would have helped you.”

“Helped me what? Acquire a clinical abortion?” His eyes grew wide. “Or helped me gestate and raise a child born of… _conflict_?”

“How can you be so completely cold?”

“I have brought one child into the universe without meaning to and out of strife already. I refuse to bring in another, Steve.” His nostrils flared and his face became even redder. She’d never quite told him the entire circumstance of her son’s conception and birth. If the knowledge made him angry or guilty, she did not care. “It was not your decision to make.”

“So you just killed it. With some toxic chemical from a flower. That was why you looked so horrible that day you came to SHIELD, the day Coulson recruited you. You’d just done it.”

She shot out of her seat, hands balled into fists. “I did not know if I was with child or not!” It was Loki’s turn to shout. “I did not know!” She felt as though her heart was going to pound its way out of her chest. “I was frightened. I needed to be sure.”

“I would have helped you.”

“And it would have killed you! It would have killed me! Every day—caring for a living reminder of what transpired between us. No.” She struggled to suck in a calming breath. “If I had a child…if we had a child, I would want it to bring us closer together. Not to drive us further apart. But I swear to you, I did not know. Not for sure.” She still felt as though this was not his business. It was her womb. Her body. She would have been the one to carry the child. His only contribution was seed.

He sat there, staring at the floor in silence. “You didn’t know.”

“I did not.”

“I thought you were on the pill.”

“I was not. I am not.”

He let out a mirthless laugh, “I bought condoms. For that weekend. They were in my bag.” He rubbed his face roughly. “It’s my fault. It’s my fault you had to do that. It’s my fault you didn’t know.”

“I could have very easily prevented it, Steve. You know that now.” Another joyless sound. “It’s not your fault. Not entirely.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t think there was a need to. Quite frankly, I didn’t think we’d ever speak again. There was no reason for you to know.” Steve seemed unable to hold back whatever he was damming up any longer. Large tears rolled down over his cheeks and soaked into his beard. Loki pulled him toward her, wrapping her arms around him and shushing him as she rocked. Why was she the one comforting him? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Perhaps if she had informed him of the situation, it would be. At least she was fairly certain his distress hadn’t come from his religious inclinations. This seemed at though he’d seen the whole thing as a directly personal affront.

“I should go.”

“Please don’t. Not now. Not like this.” He began to disentangle himself from her arms.

“I’ve got to bring the bike back to the garage.”

“It will be safe for one night.” She could ensure at least that with a small dose of magic. Anyone passing by would be compelled to keep moving. “Please stay. I have wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in your arms since the last night I was home with you.” She turned his face toward her. “Stay.” He nodded. He would stay.

“Onheil?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you take the drawing down?” She looked toward the wall and the empty space her portrait once occupied. She did not want discuss that. It was yet another thing that did not concern him.

“I don’t remember.”

“It’s in the bedroom.”

“I know.”

Thank goodness neither of them had to work in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This is just so not how I wanted to handle this all. I really really dislike the way this chapter came out but I can't seem to steer it back to where I wanted it to be. I wanted Loki to be so much more firm and combative about the whole thing. I wanted the conversation to happen in a much different setting. But it all was just getting too soap opera-ish. I lost count of how many times I re-wrote this whole damned thing.
> 
> So there it is.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	58. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki fights with herself. Steve fights with everyone else.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine, Phil. You work too hard.” Coulson laughed.

“Did you ask her about it?” Fury nodded. “And?”

“She was appalled. Said she thought it might have been one of the higher-ups who did it. She didn’t see it happen.”

“And the communicator? We never found it. Wasn’t in her mouth when she came in. Barton still had his, though.”

“Didn’t get that far. She was too overwhelmed.” Coulson nodded, it didn’t surprise him. Even with all that he’d seen as an agent, photos like that still made his stomach turn.

“I can’t begin to imagine what those two really went through. She’s like Barton. And Barton’s like Natasha. They will never give the full story.”

***

At some point that evening, Loki declared herself famished. They’d sat there for such a long time, her very bones felt like they were aching and her fingers had begun to tingle from the hyperextension of her arms around Steve’s broad shoulders and back. She had not eaten since lunch with Barton. She wasn’t sure if her head was aching from aggravation or hunger.

They ate quietly, the sounds of chopsticks scraping against the sides of the white cardboard containers serving as dialogue. Loki watched him as he swiped a napkin across his lips. This is how it always was with Thor: Loki was wronged. Loki was punished. Loki was humiliated and ridiculed and hated. Thor was rewarded with a feast. Thor was comforted. Thor was praised. More often than not, she would be the one to take care of him. Suddenly, Loki realized she did not like the look of Steve’s soft, golden beard. When she rose to chuck the containers Steve picked up the tansy tin and held it out to her. She hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Please get rid of it.”

“Steve, that’s not really your call.”

“Please.”

She pulled the garbage bin out on its track under the sink and put the containers into it. She placed the tin down on the cabinet floor beside the bin. Out of sight out of mind.

As she moved back into the living space, her foot caught in the shoulder strap of Steve’s bag. His belongings spilled out of it. Loki apologized. “It’s fine.” She sat down beside him again, trying to find normalcy after her completely abnormal evening, trying to find some way to redirect the anger that was simmering just below the surface. Anger at Steve. At herself. At the entire situation. This wasn’t how she imagined her homecoming. She’d envisioned something much more pleasant and much less clothed. This all seemed like a cruel abomination.

“Your sketchbook is in there.” Steve was tucking his things back into place. He nodded and she held her hand out. He placed the book into it without protest. At least he was well trained in some things. She flipped through the pages past pictures she remembered from before she left for Istanbul. There were several new pieces. He appeared to be continuing to explore different styles. Loki couldn’t help but be a little bit proud in spite of herself. His art always melted her resolve.

“Did I truly look this pathetic?” She tilted a sketch of herself, lying in the hospital bed, toward him. She was wearing that blasted cap with all the sensors on it. Her cheeks looked deflated, her eyes hollow.

“I wouldn’t say you looked pathetic. Ill, certainly, but not pathetic. You were fighting for your life, Onheil.” Loki made a dismissive sound and continued to flip. Most of them were dated within the few days before she woke to Stark’s interrogation. “I was starting to look, and feel, kind of crazy just sitting there. And when they kicked me out so they could examine you or change your bandages I needed to do something to occupy myself.” Loki nodded; she could understand the need for some occupation when one could do nothing constructive. For her, it had resulted in long hours spent wearing and stripping away the blue.

Steve glanced toward the clock on the stove, “I really should get home.” He didn’t sound like he actually wanted to leave. Loki nodded and rose from the couch. She did not realize how exhausted she was until she looked at the clock as well. It _was_ late.  She moved toward the door and started to unlock it then slid the chain back into place.

“Are we okay?”

“I don’t know.”

She gave him a hard look. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Steve.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed, “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t need to.”

“I just,” He fidgeted with the strap across his body and ran a hand over his hair. “I’m having a hard time processing everything. I just wish you would have told me you were...you weren’t sure. I wouldn’t have tried to change your mind. I may be a ninety-five year old church-going grandpa…but I’m not _completely_ stuck in the past. I am up on you cool young cats and your my-body-my-choice sensibilities.” Loki raised a brow. “Bad attempt at humor.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t like it. But I get it, Onheil. Give me at least that much credit. I know that I’ve blown this up far larger than it had to be. I was just hurt and confused.” Loki took the opportunity to point out that he had completely violated her privacy. If he had truly been that curious about what the tansy was for, he could have asked her himself. Steve reluctantly agreed that she was more than right. He studied his shoes for a moment and spoke more to the floor than her. “If I’m honest with myself…knowing that it was because of what I did…I don’t know how I would have handled that. It. A baby. With you. Because of _that_.” He drew in a ragged breath and his shoulders tensed. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t wrap my head around raising a child you had because I forced myself on you and didn’t bother with protection. It just would have been nice to be informed.” Even when admitting she was right, he was still telling her she was wrong.

“Can I ask you a very foolish question?”

“Shoot.”

“If you believed me to be taking birth control pills, why did you think condoms necessary?”

“I wasn’t really sure. The second time we had sex you had me tell you _when_.” Steve shrugged and blushed, “It just seemed like the responsible thing to do. I’m new at this, remember?” Loki pointed out that he had been very adamant about the fact that he wasn’t a virgin when they met. “I know. I know. I just thought I was being prepared. I was excited. And nervous. I really wanted that weekend to be perfect.”

“I really would like to _forget_ that weekend.” She reached forward and seized the wrist of the hand that still grasped his strap, pulling him toward herself. The rage she was trying to hard to contain and redirect jumped to the forefront again. This was all far too much. Had love, or what she thought had been love, truly blinded her this much? Had he always been this way? Even in his apologizing he still seemed to be preaching. To be making excuses. To be putting himself firmly in the realm of righteous anger and truth and her firmly in the realm of wicked deceiver. “I want us to be okay. You’ve got to stop stomping all over the mutual trust just when it starts to stand up again, though.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “It’s a very frail creature and you seem to have a Hulk-sized determination to annihilate it.” She did want them to be okay. She wanted the bliss of that summer back. She wanted the ease and the comfort. Rage made her weary. Holding it back made her even angrier. She’d been so filled with it her whole life. She was tired of it all.

“I know.”

She tilted her face to catch his lips. “Get yourself home. Get some sleep.” He nodded. “Don’t even think about moving that bike. Just go home.” He chuckled under his breath, mumbling something about getting out of his head.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“No.” His face dropped. “I promised Owen I would take him to some Lego thing the very moment I got home. I’ve already broken my word, I’ve been home for many moments.”

“Okay. Let me know if plans change? I mean, unless you don’t want to see me.”

“I’ll let you know.” She rubbed her thumb over the connective point in his wrist. The bone was hard and solid beneath the skin. It would be so easy to simply crush it. It wouldn’t do for Captain America to report for duty broken. It wouldn’t do for her to have been the one to break him. Fury already thought her suspicious. She was trying so hard to be whom she claimed.

***

Even as he was loosing his mind. Even as he was shouting. Even as he was accusing her of wrongdoing.

He knew he was wrong.

“Natasha, I think she was pregnant.”

“What are you talking about _was pregnant_?” Natasha had given him a look of confusion. “During the mission? And now she’s not? Judging from what Clint’s said it wouldn’t surprise me if she miscarried. I didn’t think the two of you were _really_ back together.” Steve knew his face was a portrait of horror. “I’m sorry, Steve.” She put her hand over his. “How far along do you think?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know.” He withdrew his hand. He didn’t need Natasha’s pity. He just needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t immediately run and tell Fury all of his personal business. “Before the mission. Before she joined SHIELD.”

Natasha’s expression dropped, became dark, “Paintball.”

“Paintball. Or not. I don’t know. I don’t know when. She never said anything.”

“And you think she got rid of it.” Steve nodded. He told her about the tansy and calling the store to find out about the waiver. “I’m so sorry, Steve.” She gave him a hard look. “I truly am. But you’re an ass.”

“What do you mean I’m an ass? She hid it from me! She could have told me!”

“She didn’t have to tell you a damned thing, Steve. Shit, I give her credit for handling herself.” It was one of the only positive things Natasha had said about Onheil in months. “You two need to talk. And you need to get your head on straight.”

Natasha had been right. He’d tried so hard to keep a lid on it. He’d tried so hard to stay calm and cool and approach the situation rationally. But then she’s played stupid. He knew she was playing. He’d been with her long enough to know some of her tells. He’d lost it then.

She’d ordered takeout. They’d eaten in relative silence. There was a change in her. He could feel it. He could feel the static. He didn’t know what to say. She’d reacted far differently than he’d anticipated. He’d expected to be thrown out of the apartment. But he wasn’t; he was sitting beside her on the couch, tucking lo mien noodles into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks. He wanted to say something. Anything. But everything that came to mind just sounded like it would be upsetting or insulting. The way she was looking at him out of the corner of her eye was as if she wanted nothing more than to jam her own chopstick into his ear and stir until his brain was mush.

He asked her to get rid of the tansy. She thought he was stupid. He wasn’t. She couldn’t have been anymore obvious about placing the tin down beside the garbage bin under the sink rather than into it. She’d clearly made herself sick once already, even if she really hadn’t been with child. Why would she even entertain the idea of doing that again?

She seemed to relax in the most miniscule way when she flipped through his sketchbook. He didn’t want to show it to her. He thought she would be uncomfortable with the fact that he’d drawn a picture of her while she lay in some sort of coma for days. It didn’t seem to faze her.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay the night. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let go. He wanted to show her how sorry he was. He wanted to give her the comfort that she’d given him, comfort he neither expected nor deserved. He had to leave. He knew it was going to be a rough night. That was the last thing she needed to be subjected to.

“Are we okay?”

No, they weren’t. And it was her fault. And his fault. Mostly his fault. Okay, all his fault. But she still could have told him. “I didn’t say that.”

Why was he trying to be funny? This was the worst moment for funny. But there was that crackle in the air and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. He didn’t know what to do to make her _understand_. If he was honest with himself, as much as it horrified him to think it, after all was said and done he thought he might have even encouraged her decision. He’d seen too many girls in the neighborhood back in his day disappear for a year and come back as though nothing had happened or go through it all only to struggle to raise the child on their own or be forced into a shotgun wedding before they started to show and the priest wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t want to see Onheil go through that. He knew that he couldn’t handle a child either. He could barely handle himself. And as much as he loved Onheil, he was in no way prepared to be married. A child deserved an intact home. It deserved two constant and loving parents. Onheil deserved more than to go through what his mother had, she deserved more than to struggle. He may not be dead, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to be as present as he should be. And it killed him. It made his heart ache and his stomach turn.

If only.

If only he’d been smart enough not to do something so completely stupid and destructive.

If only he didn’t seem to be doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over again. If only he could stop this cycle he found himself in.

She was the best thing that had happened to him since he crashed into the water. Since he woke up in a sham of a set in the bowels of SHIELD in a world that wasn’t his.

And he just kept ruining it.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll let you know.”

She was rubbing his wrist with her thumb. He gingers were gripping his arm just a bit too tightly. He wondered for half a second if she was planning on snapping it. He hoped she wasn’t.

She looked exhausted, the ghost of the woman he’d scooped up off the ground outside Crossbones’ warehouse sneaking into the crinkles at the corners of her eyes. He pressed his lips to hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Good night, Captain.” He felt as though he’d been shot.

He hesitated near his bike when he got outside. His helmet was under his arm. The extra one was still upstairs in Onheil’s apartment. He checked to make sure that he hadn’t left anything important in the side pockets and kept moving.

Steve fell into bed fully clothed. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

***

Loki sat on the steps of her front stoop early the next morning. She’d showered and fallen into a fitful sleep after Steve had departed.

He was standing on the steps in Germany. Waiting. He knew someone would come. He hadn’t expected that it would not be the Captain. Instead, as he waited, standing there in his smart suit and coat, he could hear the distinct click of his own heels against the cement. “You are _weak_.”

Loki gripped the shaft of the scepter tightly to steady the shaking of his hands. He stood before himself. His former self. The self he had lost to the centuries. The air around he and his shadow crackled with energy and filled with the scent of smoldering kindling. “The green abomination was right, if part at least. You are puny, though you are no god. Not anymore.”

“I am not weak.”

“You are. You are soft and weak. You let them break you. You let them douse your flame. My flame.”

“No.”

“You hide. You hide from Heimdall. You hide from yourself. You hide behind that man. That mortal. You hide behind this façade. Onheil? She is nothing. You are nothing. When did you become this? When did you resign yourself to standing here, night after night, waiting for _him_?”

Loki studied the face of the man before him. The glow that seemed to come from within. The flurry of wild hair and braids woven with chain and tangled with twig and leaf. The smattering of marks across the face as if tiny embers had fallen and burned. He studied the bare chest framed by the fur cloak. He studied the hands, rough from constant contact with bark and brush and stone; the nails framed in soot. He studied the vambraces, etched delicately with runes telling the story of Loki the Trickster, Loki the Wildfire, Loki the Light.

“When did you become this mewling quim?”

Loki raised the scepter to strike and the shadow of himself darted away, laughing. He swung and struck until his shoulder ached and his muscles burned.

“See? Weak.”

It had been a mercy to wake. She’d gone down to the coffee shop, waiting outside the door for the manager to open the shop for the day. He’d thrown his arms around her in greeting. She assured him she was fine. Her business had run longer than she’d expected. She’d caught some virus while traveling and had been out of commission for some time. She felt fine now and wished to return to work as soon as he could fit her into the schedule. She left with a piping hot paper cup full of coffee. He knew she didn’t drink it, but he’d pressed it into her hands anyway, insisting that her fingers were far too cold and chastising her for not wearing gloves in the wintry weather.

So she sat on the stoop, inhaling the scent of the coffee and wondering if her behind may actually go numb from being pressed against the cold concrete of the step. Loki let her gaze fall on the motorcycle. It was still there, still unharmed. She had not seen Steve out running. She wondered if he’d slept in. She wondered if he’d made it home at all or had found his way to Stark’s monstrosity of a building to pummel his rage into an innocent hanging bag.

The wondering made her angry. Made her feel weak. Made her believe that the shadow in her dream had been completely right. She set the cup down beside her and tented her fingers under her chin. She started with the front tire, listening to the satisfying hiss of the air leaking out of the rubber. Then the left mirror cracked. The right shattered. The light on the front glowed hot and exploded. The back tire began to deflate. Springs and cogs and gears fell to the ground. Oil and gasoline began to spread in a pool beneath the vehicle.

She let the magic dance over her fingertips, glowing green and gold and writhing into flame.

She folded her arms, tucked her hands beneath them before she set the wreck of Steve’s bike ablaze. With a sigh, it was whole again, the illusion shattered before it became real. She kicked over the cup of coffee on her way back into the building. She told herself it was just because she didn’t want to deal with having the fire department outside her building, that the shadow in her dreams was wrong.

She waited for a less unpleasant hour before knocking on her neighbor’s door. Sue stood there looking at her in slight disbelief. “Can Owen come out and play?” Loki grinned when Sue pulled her in for a warm embrace. It felt good to have people in her life that simply appreciated her for herself—not for what she could do for them. She repeated the story she told earlier that morning. “Oh yes, I feel fine now. The hospital decided it was best to keep me until I’d finished a full course of antibiotics.” Clint’s situation seemed to fit best.

Reed came stumbling out of the kitchen, mug full of coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. “Ellie, glad to have you back. I expect Istanbul was pleasant? Did you see the Hagia Sophia?”

“Oh yes, it was quite lovely. Much of my business was conducted over sightseeing. It’s a beautiful city.”

“You’re working for that defense firm Captain Rogers is with, right?” She nodded. “Never took you to be the government drone type.”

Loki laughed, “It’s not quite the government. But you’re right. I never expected to find myself working for a place like that either. A paycheck from there is as good as a paycheck from anyplace else, though.” He nodded and said that he would wake Owen up.

The child greeted her with all the enthusiasm he could muster. He came out of the bedroom he shared with his sister whining and groaning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Owen, is that anyway for a boy your age to act?” He froze, fingers tangled in his mop of curly ginger hair and looked at her with wide eyes. “Ellie!” He rushed toward her and she caught him with open arms, his momentum pushing her back from her crouched position. She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re home!” Loki shifted to sit up, Owen kneeling between her splayed legs, arms still wrapped around her neck. “You’re late.”

“I am late. I’m very sorry. Will you still come see the Legos with me?” Owen pulled away and hustled back toward his room. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

Loki spent the large majority of the morning wandering through rooms filled with sculptures composed of thousands of small, plastic blocks. She was unimpressed, the boy, however, was enthralled—and that was all that mattered. She watched as he spread out the pieces of the small kit they’d purchased after wandering into the frighteningly large and overwhelming toy store in Times Square after seeing the gallery out over the table of their booth.

“Is it really going to wind up a plane or are you going to turn it into something else?”

“A plane.” And a plane it was. His fingers worked over the plastic pieces methodically between bites of pancake and gulps of orange juice. He hardly looked at the picture on the box, seeming to know by instinct which piece should fit where.

_“U OK?”_

_“Yes. I am out on a date.”_

_“Cap’s gonna flip a shit.”_

_“With my 8 year old neighbor.”_

_“Pedophile.”_

_“Bird brain.”_

_“Srsly, U OK?”_

_“Yes. Why?”_

_“Fury came & questioned me about some dead guy. Foot cut off.”_

_“I have no idea what that was all about. Already told him.”_

_“Asked me if anyone found my comm.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Did they find URS?”_

_“IDK. Don’t remember.”_

_“U sure?”_

_“Yes.”_

She’d been having such a lovely time, why did Barton have to go and ruin it?

***

Steve had been completely incapable of capturing slumber. He’d been tempted to head over to the Tower as soon as he realized that the sleeping pill he took had no intention of kicking in. He knew JARVIS would let him up to the Avengers floors, but he didn’t want the AI to also alert Tony and Pepper to his presence. This wasn’t their problem or their business. Instead, he laid there in the dark until dawn before taking off for Manhattan.

Tony stumbled onto the training floor two hours after Steve had reached the building. “I almost didn’t believe that it was true when J said you were here. Then I remember that you’re abso-fucking-lutely insane and insist on continuing to run on a military schedule.” Steve just continued to hit the bag. “What’s up? You only attack inanimate objects like that when something’s eating you.”

“It’s nothing, Tony. Just pent-up energy.”

“Figured you’d spend the weekend in bed.”

“What?”

“With Onheil.” Steve shot him a withering.

“Don’t you have better things to do than to ridicule me?”

“It actually didn’t look like you two were all that cozy yesterday in the combat room.”

“Isn’t that the whole purpose of a combat room?”

Tony quieted; sipping some concoction of organic juices and watching Steve work the bag over.

“Hey, Cap.”

“Yeah.” Steve craned his neck down to use the sleeve of his tee shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“There’s something I want to show you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, Tony, why?
> 
> Stop trying to kill the happy. Steve is already doing a good job of that himself.
> 
> I really expected to loose a substantial number of readers, I even expected my kudos to disappear after the last chapter. Thank you all so much for your support.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	59. Visual Learner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson has a proposition for Loki.

“JARVIS, do you know what the heck Tony is up to?”

“I do, Captain Rogers. I assisted Mr. Stark on this project.”

“And he’s not going to tell you, Steve.”

Steve sighed in exasperation, “I don’t understand why you need to show me, why you can’t just tell me?”

“Because you’re a visual learner, Capsicle.”

They stepped out into the lab from the elevator. There were some new features. He recognized some of the machines—no instruments; Simmons insisted they be called instruments—from the biological lab that he usually met with Fitz-Simmons in. Tony sat and immediately started tapping over the keyboard. Whatever it was that he wanted to play show and tell with, he’d hidden beneath encryptions and security codes.

“Okay, Jarve. Gimmie a big screen view.”

Steve watched as an oversized screen flickered to life. A digital model he recognized as DNA began to flow across the screen and rotate in space. Tony stood on the other side of the glass, watching Steve rather than the model. “So what is it that’s so important?”

Tony flicked his fingers over the screen to minimize the animation and pull up specific sequences. “You’re familiar with this, I think.” Steve was. He vaguely remembered the information from Simmons’ report just before Onheil and Barton were taken. “Okay then, this should also look fairly familiar, then.” He minimized Onheil’s sequences to half the screen and pulled up something new. “Recognize anything?”

“I’m not a dimwit, Stark. I can see that both of these are similar.” He paused, squinting at the second model as it rotated. “They’re not the same though.” He crossed his arms. “What did you try to recreate her genome or something?” He was a little proud of himself for knowing the word and he was fairly sure he’d used it in the proper context. “Looks like you didn’t get it right.”

“No, I didn’t get it quite right. But I’m not wrong, either.” He swiped his hands over the screen and the two models filled the air in the room. Tony moved his hand through them, flipping, stretching, and zooming in and out. “Don’t you see it?”

“No, I don’t. I’d really like you to just tell me what the heck it is you feel is so important. I’m not done with that hanging bag.”

Tony put his arms out as if to present the second model. “This is extra terrestrial DNA, Steve.”

“So you think Onheil is an alien.”

“In a sense.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, no, pretty sure I’m a genius.”

“And where did you get the sample for comparison from?”

“From an extra terrestrial that I happen to be on fairly friendly terms with. Not sure he understood what I wanted his blood for, but that’s beside the point, really.”

Steve turned on his heel and stalked back toward the elevator, “I should have just gone to the gym at SHIELD.”

“Spangles! C’mon!” Steve looked over his shoulder and watched the holograms disappear. “Steve, listen to me!”

“I really don’t want to hear it, Stark. I don’t care if she’s from Arizona or Brooklyn or Pluto…or…or Asgard! _I don’t care._ She’s Onheil.” _She’s my Onheil._ “Nothing can change that.” He looked back in the right direction and gasped quietly in surprise. Pepper was leaning against the door, arms crossed, a sour expression on her face. “Excuse me, Pepper.” She unfolded an arm and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “I hope I didn’t disturb you by coming so early. I apologize.”

“Nonsense. You can come in and out whenever you like, that’s the whole point of the Avengers floors.” Steve nodded and slipped by her, stepping into the elevator that he was sure JARVIS had called up for him.

***

“What did you do?” Pepper’s tone was low and firm. Tony knew she meant business.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t be a jackass, Tony. You did something. You did something involving Steve and Onheil. She just got pulled out of an extremely stressful situation. She almost didn’t get pulled out.”

“I know that Pepper, I helped find her. Fuck that, I _did_ find her.” JARVIS made a sound like he was clearing his throat. “J and I found her.”

“And you can’t just let them have a few days of happiness over being reunited before you go an stick your nose where it doesn’t belong? Isn’t this Fitz-Simmons’ job? This genetic stuff? And Dr. McCoy. They called him in to consult—“

“But, Pepper, you don’t understand!”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand. Just because you have all of these things and you have that big brain doesn’t mean you get to do stupid shit like hack into SHIELD’s servers and steal security footage and laboratory results. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“But—“

“Did you think that I didn’t know what you were doing? I was really holding out hope that you were trying to help her, especially when you teamed up with Jemma and Leo. But clearly, you’re only in it to be able to tell everyone what a genius you are. JARVIS, override code 17B. Mr. Stark has become completely incorrigible and irresponsible and is banned from the lab and any outside server until further notice.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pepper! You can’t do this!”

“I just did. Focus on yourself, Tony. Focus on the Avengers. Focus on tweaking the suit. But leave that girl alone.”

Somehow, Tony knew he would regret building in that code. He’d meant to be able to have Pepper keep him from ruining things when he was drunk, not when he was on the verge of proving something incredible and disturbing and important. Pepper stood in the doorway tapping her foot. Tony reluctantly walked through it. Maybe he could take his findings to Fitz-Simmons. Or maybe Bruce could be tempted home with the promise of science. He couldn’t just let it go.

***

Monday brought Loki back to SHIELD. Coulson had offered to approve some time off but she found that she just wanted to get back into the training room and focus the destructive feeling building up inside of her into something less so. She’d tried painting and sketching and the results were just as dark as she felt, which had made her feel no less heavy with it.

Coulson stood off the to the side while she tapped lightly at the hanging bag she’d put up in the middle of the room. She’d spent the morning hurling knives at a target and had grown bored rather quickly. She wished Barton would hurry up and heal, dammit. She wanted a partner. She’d even wondered briefly if she could lure Natasha into the training room. Loki was itching to see what the spider could do first hand, what she’d learned or hadn’t since Loki was last on Midgard.

“Captain Rogers has come up with some fairly logical moves to make against Crossbones and Red Scull.”

“Yes, and?”

“We managed to intercept the shipment that was meant for Germany—the one we thought was going to Russia. He thinks the best move to make would be to go where they least expect it.”

“And where would that be?”

“Well, they probably think that we’re going to focus on Europe. We weren’t exactly quiet about the interception—on purpose, of course.”

“Is there going to be a point to this story?”

“We want to drop a team into the middle of the desert in Afghanistan. There’s a pretty extensive network of underground bunkers that we’re sure are connected to the whole scheme when you take intel we’ve received and the conclusions Steve’s made into account. It was pretty brilliant of him, actually. I don’t think people give him enough credit for his strategic planning skills.”

Loki stopped, putting her palm against the bag to stop it from swinging. “Phil. Your fanboy is showing. You may want to cover that up.” Coulson gave her a confused look then blushed.

“Anyway, I think that it might be a decent idea to send you back in.”

“What?”

“I want you to put together a team. Fury agrees. It should be a pretty standard, controlled situation for the most part. Perfect way to let you stretch your muscles in the field.”

“Was that not the purpose of sending me to Istanbul?”

“In part, yes, but we never anticipated it having any sort of fighting element. Just a quick in-and-out.”

“And why do you and the director believe me capable of putting together a team for this?”

Coulson shrugged, “You’re good at reading people.” He moved toward the door, “Go beat up one of the bags down in the general training area. Scope everyone out. Let me know what you think.” Loki sighed and turned back to the bag as he left. She had no intention of following his suggestion until the floor was littered with sand.

Loki stalked the perimeter of the training area, “scooping everyone out” as Coulson put it. The agents weren’t so different from the warriors on Asgard. All pomp and show and posturing with very little actual learning and development going on. She wondered how either SHIELD or Asgard truly ever got anything done. It took a few moments for anyone to notice her. She stayed against the wall, watching. When one seemed to feel her gaze, she moved away.

“That’s Cap’s girlfriend, isn’t it?”

“No, they broke up again. I heard she was getting cozy in Hawkeye’s nest—if you catch my drift.”

“I heard they were back together.”

“I heard she was the reason he went ape-shit last summer.”

“I heard Romanov put a bounty on her.”

“Isn’t she a mutant?”

“Yeah, she’s an Omega. Like that woman…what did they call her? Phoenix?”

“No, she’s an External. No way she could have come home and been released from medical that quickly if she wasn’t. Did you see how bad Barton looked?”

“That can’t be right. They called McCoy in, he says she’s not a mutant.”

“You’re both wrong. She’s an alien. Only explanation for a chick that hot and that deadly.”

“So then Romanov’s an alien?”

“She’s Russian, isn’t she?”

“She defected. She’s not an alien anymore.”

Loki rolled her eyes. They were all idiots. She wanted none of them. Perhaps if she pretended to simply be here to train like the rest of them, she would be less conspicuous. She approached the area with the hanging bags, wondering if Steve still utilized them or he simply went to Stark Tower. She pushed against a few, testing their weight, and selected the most solid feeling one. “Hey there little lady.” She turned and batted her eyelashes at the agent who’d approached her. “Hey there yourself.”

“Don’t you think this bag is a little heavy for you?”

She put a hand on his chest and drew it back, gasping and biting her bottom lip coquettishly. “Oh, I don’t know. I thought I might give it a go.”

“Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He fingered a curl that was lying over her shoulder. “Captain wouldn’t be to pleased. Or is it Barton now?” She raised a brow and leaned close.

“I’ll tell you a secret. It’s neither. I prefer my men big…and muscle-bound…and green.” His eyebrows shot up into his hairline and she laughed. He chuckled as well, catching the joke. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He took a step back and swung his arm out, presenting the bag to her like a model on _The Price is Right_. She tapped it lightly with her fists for a moment. “Oh dear. I think you may have been right. This is far too heavy.” She looked back at him over her shoulder. She swiftly brought her leg up and walloped the side of the bag with as much force as she judged appropriate. The leather ripped loudly at the seams and the sand spilled out onto the floor. She looked down at the mess she’d made and back at the agent, her lips pursed into a surprised O. “Do you think it’s light enough, now?”

The agent narrowed his eyes at her and stalked away. Loki let her gaze sweep across the room, taking note of who had stopped to watch and who had continued to focus on the task at hand.

Loki made a beeline for physical therapy. “Big Bird!” Barton chuckled as he held onto the bars on either side of himself. He still looked thin, but he was more like himself. “I wear purple, not yellow, Twitchy.”

“Oooh. Good one.” Barton grinned and put an arm in the air when he reached the end of the lane.

“Tada!” Loki snorted a laugh and walked beside him to allow him to rest a hand on her shoulder while he walked to his next station. Whatever they’d done to his foot in surgery or with medications seemed to be working miracles. According to Clint, the wound in his foot was largely healed. The nutrient solution they were making him drink was helping to fill out his flesh again. “Why didn’t they work some sort of miracle when I broke Steve?” Clint laughed and said it sounded like she was talking about a toy she’d gotten for Christmas rather than a person. She flicked the big toe of his injured foot and he grunted in discomfort. “I asked them that myself, actually. I clearly asked the wrong person. They went on about wound severity and intricacy and muscle versus bone and it all just made my head spin.”

“So ripped meat is easier than fractured bone?”

“I guess so. You just here to taunt me?” He paused for a moment, sucking down water and readjusting the placement of his injured foot on the PT bike.

“No, although taunting you is fairly amusing.” She watched as he started pushing the pedals once more. “Coulson wants me to put a team together.” She explained what Coulson had told her SHIELD was planning.

Clint frowned, “He’s right. You do know how to read people. If I didn’t know that before, it was pretty obvious, _Ekaterina_.” He grinned at her to cover the discomfort that was painted over his face as he flexed his foot. “I can give you some names, if you’d like.” Loki told him about the stunt that she had pulled in the training room. He laughed. “I know exactly who you’re talking about. He’s a complete asshole.” She described a few of the people who had caught her notice in a positive light, the ones who had focused on what they were doing rather than the whispering and gossiping and watching the show she put on. “I think I know a few of them. Good people.” Loki nodded; she’d come to trust Barton’s opinion. He was honest. He had heart. It was why she’d chosen him after stepping out of the portal to begin with. “I still think you should be a part of _the_ team.” She shrugged; she didn’t think that was going to happen. “Think these people you’re choosing are going to be involved with the Loki situation?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I be perfectly honest?” Of course he could. Wasn’t he always? “I don’t think Loki’s going to come and unleash hell on us. And I don’t think Fury thinks so either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just setting up some pieces.
> 
> See, this is why I don't write Pepper. I suck at it. I need to watch the IM films again. I really want to include some things about Extremis and all of that and I just don't have a handle on it.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	60. It's Not What It Looks Like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki gets a surprise visitor.

Steve tried to focus on his work. He tried to narrow down the field of possibility as to where exactly in the desert the team would need to be dropped and where would be the best extraction point if things went south. He heard rumors that Fury and Coulson had made plains to have Onheil on that team. It worried him even more than the mission in Istanbul had. At least there it was supposed to have been purely fact finding with a specialized team following them to take out whatever target they identified. This would put Onheil right “in the shit” as so many of his current peers were prone to saying. He didn’t like it one bit. He wanted to be there to protect her.

“No, no, you’ve got it completely wrong, Captain.” He had finally moved his desk back into place. The files he’d constructed were arranged neatly on top of it. Important puzzle pieces found their way to a second corkboard he’d requested. The maps and the command pyramid remained in their places. There was one of SHIELD’s many logistics experts sitting across from him. They were going over extraction strategies. The gentleman sitting across from him shook his head. He’d asked Steve how he felt about Onheil being involved. “She’s not just on the team. She’s _leading_ the team. Picked it herself.” So the gossip he’d heard as people passed by his door was true.

“That’s absurd. She doesn’t have any experience in any of this. She’s _just_ a girl. She’s not a soldier; she’s not a spy. How is she picking them?” His tone wasn’t condescending, more concerned.

“Aren’t you two close? Wouldn’t you know these things?”

“I’ve been busy. She hasn’t talked much about it.” They hadn’t spoken at all.

“Well, she’s been watching people train. Very quiet. A little creepy—no offense intended.” Steve shook his head, there was none taken. “She pulled this stunt on Monday, pretty hilarious if I do say so.” He told Steve about the forward agent and the hanging bag. Steve chuckled. “She’s quite the interesting character.” Yes, she was. “If I’m not mistaken, she has some sort of telekinetic ability?” Yes. “That explains quite a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sure footed agents slipping and falling. Expert marksmen completely missing targets. I even heard a linguist claim earlier this morning that she’d completely forgotten how to speak. Period. Let alone recognize any language. Couldn’t figure out what she was reading.” He widened his eyes and put his hands up like he was Nosferatu. “And Onheil was seen in the hallway outside her office!” He laughed.

“No, most of that sounds like her, actually. Even before I knew about her abilities, she always had a bit of a mischievous streak. All in good fun, though.”

***

_Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift. The baffled king composing Hallelujah._

Loki moved the short blade through the plump, red flesh of the fruit methodically. She should have left. She should have left him there, hidden behind the retaining wall. They would have found him and she could have been gone. She could have been building a new life elsewhere. Now…now she was in too deep.

_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you._

Damn it all.

_She broke your throne and she cut your hair._

“Fuck!” Loki drew her hand back and dropped the blade. She shoved her thumb into her mouth and sucked. Her tongue was quickly coated in the metallic taste of blood. “Dammit. That wasn’t the right flesh, you fool.”

_I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch._

She surveyed the severity of the wound and stuck the digit back into her mouth. She rose and got a paper towel from the kitchen to wipe the blood off of the cutting board and blade. “Pay attention to what you’re doing.” Yes, pay attention to what you’re doing. To what they’re doing. To everything that is going on around you. Keep hiding. Keep pretending. Stop feeling.

_There was a time when you let me know what was really going on below; but now you never show that to me do you? But remember when I moved in you and the holy dove was moving too—and every breath we drew was Hallelujah._

She wished she could manipulate time as well as she could manipulate everything else. She would go back. She would go back to when she’d been happy—content, at least. She would go back to Halloween. She wouldn’t ever get out of that bed.

She would go back to before all of this bullshit began. Before she knew what she was. Before she’d discovered Odin’s lies. Frigga’s lies. Before she came up with the stupid idea to sneak the Jotun into the palace. Then maybe she could live in ignorance. She could find some other way to make Thor see what an imbecile he was—to save the realm from his idiotic rule for a while longer. If what the Avengers said was true—that the Allfather had fallen into Odinsleep and stayed that way, then the realm really had fallen to him. It was all for naught.

She wrapped her thumb tightly with a clean piece of towel. It would stop bleeding shortly. It would close shortly after that. Who the fuck was knocking on her door?

“Can you open the door before I pass the fuck out?” It couldn’t be. He wasn’t cleared to leave yet. Loki peered out the peephole in disbelief. She opened the door cautiously.

“What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at SHIELD. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I escaped.” He shifted his weight, his body supported on one side by a crutch. “You going to let me in or not?”

Loki opened the door more fully and stepped aside, sweeping her eyes across the hall quickly before closing it again and securing it.

_It’s not somebody who’s seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah._

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re sitting around eating strawberries and drinking wine?” He swiveled the top half of his body toward her. “How did you even get strawberries? They’re not in season, everything at the market is either not red enough or too small.”

“I teleported to a place they _were_ in season and purchased them.” Clint snorted a laugh and moved himself toward the couch. “You think I’m not serious?”

“Yeah, okay, Hermione. You disapparated from Brooklyn and apparated in California to buy perfectly ripe strawberries. Did you get the wine while you were there too?”

“No, the wine is from France.”

“Muskrat de front-gate?”

“Muscat de Frontignan.”

“Snob.”

“Barbarian.” Loki went to ditch the towel-bandage and retrieved a second glass and poured some of the chilled sweet white out for Barton. “So how exactly did you escape?”

“Flirted with my PT instructor. Got her to give me a pass for the day. Natasha drove me over.” Loki knew that Clint and Natasha had had a serious discussion at some point. He wouldn’t give her any details. “You know, I’ve never been here before. You really do live close to Steve.” Loki nodded. “Has anybody else been in here? Has Steve even been in here?”

“Yes, of course Steve has been in here. And Phil. And Tony stood in my doorway and yelled at me.”

“Yelled at you?”

“Mhm. For being on the front page and looking ‘sexed-up’ when I answered the door.”

“I no longer want to hear this story.” Loki rolled her eyes.

“So why are you here and not with Natasha?”

“She was leaving, she has a job somewhere in Argentina.”

“Ah, so I am the booby prize?” Clint flicked his eyes to her chest and back to her face. She smacked him playfully. “How did you get up here? There’s a lock downstairs.”

“Followed a neighbor in. Lock doesn’t do much if your neighbors aren’t suspicious enough of strangers.”

Clint sat back, relaxing into the fur throw arranged over the back of the couch. He sipped the wine Loki had given him and his body melted into the curve of the seat, tension running out of him for the moment. His eyes swept over the room and rested on the large canvas Loki had been working on over the weekend. It was largely black, or rather very dark blue. The figures in the foreground were clashing in battle, green flames writhing through the action, flecks of gold where metal crashed together. “That’s certainly an unpleasant scene.”

“I felt unpleasant while I was painting it.”

“I don’t think that’s going to fit on any of your walls.”

“Perhaps I’ll hang it on the ceiling.”

“You should sell it.”

“It’s not finished.”

“When it’s done.” He glanced around the room at the various paintings and photographs hanging on the walls. “You’re really good. Bet you could make a decent profit.” He leaned forward and grabbed a strawberry. “You come up with a solid list yet?”

Loki pointed the remote at the television where the tracks of the CD she was playing were listed and turned the volume down. She picked up the notebook that was resting on the table and handed it to him. He flipped through it while she hugged her knees to her chest and sipped her wine. She’d taken extensive notes on anyone she found interesting.

Interesting did not just mean good with a weapon or with fist and foot. Interesting meant cunning. Intelligent. Creative. Quick. Resourceful. Intuitive. “You have got far too much time on your hands, Onheil.”

“Well it’s not as if Fury allows me to do much of anything but train. It was a distraction. And if these are truly the people I’m supposed to be leading, then I want to know exactly what I’m working with.”

Clint nodded, he got the logic. He flipped through the pages, skimming what she’d written, the various possible lists she’d created and abandoned and created again. “Melinda is a good choice, obviously.” He chewed the inside of his cheek and scanned the page again, “Ward is good too. I don’t really get along with him though. Keeps trying to show me up. I like to tell him he’s number four. Number two marksman—“ Under Barton himself, of course. “Of course. And number two spy under ‘Tash.”

“You’re just threatened.”

“Coulson likes him, so he must be a decent person.”

Clint flipped to the last few pages with notes on them. “You took notes on us?”

“Yes. Coulson said I could have anyone I wanted.” Loki wasn’t afraid that Clint would see what she’d written. She’d been perfectly honest in all her observations. If there was one thing that Clint truly respected, aside from someone who was good at what they did, it was honesty.

“The Captain.” Clint affected a deep, announcer’s voice. “Prefers shield but excellent with firearms. Decent marksman. Loyal to a fault. Will risk own life to defend allies. Complete liability.” He raised a brow at her. “Liability?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Many reasons.” Clint studied her for a moment and continued to read over her notes. They spent the rest of the evening discussing the mechanics of possible teams.

Clint stretched and groaned. “I should get going. I plan on sleeping in a real bed tonight. Preferably my own.”

“Is someone going to pick you up?”

“Nah, I’m going to hop on the train.” Loki snorted, “What’s so funny?”

“Something Stark said. Hop-Along Hawkeye.”

“Remind me to stick my foot up his ass next time I see him.”

“I’m not letting you take a train. You’ll set yourself back far too much.”

“You gonna pay for a cab?”

“No, you’re going to stay here. Don’t be foolish.” Loki rose from her seat. They’d emptied the bottle of wine between them, the strawberries were all gone. “You can take the bed.”

“No, I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t be silly.”

“You are injured. Don’t _you_ be silly.” After another hour of arguing and another bottle of wine, Clint allowed Loki to help him into the bedroom and fell into a contented, boozy slumber.

The following morning, Loki stood in the doorway watching Barton sleep. His uninjured leg was dangling off the edge of the bed, toes skimming the floor. The injured foot was propped up carelessly atop a wadded up blanket. One arm slung across his face, the fingers of the other rested lightly across his stomach. Guilt stabbed through Loki as she took in the healing electrical burns, the bruises beginning to yellow at the edges. Clint’s lips hung slightly apart, his breathing was deep an even. Midgardians were so fragile. She supposed that was why they insisted on trying to pack as many celebrations and events into their short lives as possible. Their light could be doused at any moment, whether they expected it or not. She grabbed clean clothes out of the closet as quietly as she could and went into the bathroom to dress for the day. She didn’t want to wake him. He deserved the rest.

Loki was setting about preparing a light morning meal for the two of them when there was the distinct sound of the buzzer downstairs that Clint failed to utilize the evening before. She cut the heat on the stove and went to the door to press the button to answer the intercom. “Yes?”

“Onheil?”

“Hello, Steve.”

“Can I come up?”

“I have company.”

“Please?” She pressed the button to allow him to open the door. Within a few moments he was standing in her living room, wringing his hands.

“I-I-I came to see how you were.” She took in his form from his worn shoes to the buttons on the collar of the Henley he was wearing when he stripped off his coat and hat. “I heard about Coulson asking you to put a team together. I was wondering how you were doing.”

“I’m at SHIELD for the majority of the day nearly every day. You could have asked me at any time. Could have spoken to me at any time. Could have called me. Could have emailed me, even. But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t really think you wanted to see me. Or talk to me. After…after the last time.”

“Well, you thought wrong, didn’t you?” His eyes swept over the limited space of the living room and kitchen, lingered over the still empty space where his drawing had once hung.

“How are you?”

“Fine.” She saw him staring into the kitchen, knew he saw the two wine glasses still sitting on the counter, the empty bottles beside them.

“I, um, I have tickets.” He cleared his throat. “I have tickets to the ballet. They’re at Lincoln Center. Pepper gave them to me. I thought you’d like to go. It’s _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.”

“Are you attempting to purchase your place in my good graces?”

“No.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“No, I’m not. I was at the Tower and Pepper gave them to me. She said she’d seen it before. She thought we would enjoy it.”

“So this is pure coincidence.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Steve.”

“I think that was the best sleep I’ve had in months.” Clint was hobbling down the hall on his crutch, rubbing his eyes and yawning, hair stuck up at odd angles. Loki looked from him to the Captain. His eyes were wide with horror and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Clint finally looked up. “Hey, Steve.” He stopped dead in his tracks. “Steve.” His own eyes grew wide. He looked down at himself for a moment—bare chest and feet, the jeans he’d shown up and slept in slung low on his hips. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

Loki put a hand on Steve’s arm. His hands were balled into fists. “You said there was nothing going on between the two of you.” His teeth were gritted.

“And there isn’t.”

“It certainly doesn’t look that way, Onheil.”

“Cap, please, it’s not what it looks like. I promise you. I wouldn’t do that. _She_ wouldn’t do that. Do you really trust people that little?”

Loki took a deep breath to steady herself, to put down the urge to turn both of them into blocks of ice like she had Heimdall. “Clint, I think that you need to shut up and put your shirt on.” She gripped Steve’s forearm tighter. “Steve, he came to spend the evening. I didn’t want him to try to get home on his own on a crutch. I asked him to spend the night.” The tension in his arm relaxed the slightest bit. “I slept on the couch. I insisted he take the bed because of his injuries.” She released his arm. “Why am I trying to explain myself?”

Steve exhaled. He hadn’t breathed since Clint appeared in the hall. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to.” He composed himself. “You don’t have to. I’m an ass.”

“Indeed, you are.” Clint had disappeared and was hold up in the bedroom, door shut. “Thank you for admitting it.” She raised a brow, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “When is this ballet?”

He looked at her in disbelief, “You mean you’ll go?” She nodded. He fished an envelope out of his messenger bag and handed her a ticket out of it. “You’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure. I did say that I wanted us to be okay. Did I not?” She moved into the kitchen and tacked the ticket onto the fridge with a magnet shaped like a Lego. “You are the one that’s been very purposefully avoiding me. I am prepared to move on—I did move on. Months ago. You seem to be the one not prepared to do the same.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sor—“

“And you seemed to have forgotten the rule about saying you were sorry.” She approached him, leaving a breath between them. “Do me one favor?”

“Anything.” She rubbed her nose alongside his, teased his lips with hers but didn’t kiss him. His breath audibly hitched. “Get rid of that beard. I hate it.”

“I distinctly remember a statement that went something like: ‘Scratchy. I like it.’” He leaned back slightly, brow raised and cheeks flushed. “The press recognizes me less often this way.”

Clint’s voice came muffled through the door. “Can you two decide whether you’re going to fuck or fight later? I really have to use the bathroom.”

“Come out, Clint.” The SHIELD phone resting on the coffee table began to buzz.

“Is Barton with you? We can’t find him.”

“Agent Coulson, it’s a sad day when SHIELD can’t keep track of its own people.”

“He left his phone here. It’s not like we’ve embedded him with a tracker.”

“Yes, Phil, he’s here.”

“Send him down.”

“How about you come up, instead? It already seems like this is to be a breakfast party, why not join?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go **Body_count** , now you don't have to waste away. I decided to cut it short so that it didn't get all rambly.
> 
> Loki is of course listening to Jeff Buckley's rendition of "Hallelujah."
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	61. Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki presents the plan for Afghanistan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Possible _Winter Soldier_ spoiler. If you want to avoid it, then skip over the first section (11 paragraphs/lines long). It won't be a loss to the chapter if you don't read it, it's a bit of a flash-forward as in the chapter preceding the Istanbul mission.

Coming out of the ice was always interesting. It was like being reborn. He could feel the sensation returning to his core first as his heart began to pump again. Slowly. Stuttering at first. The last bits of him to begin to tingle with life were his toes. Always the toes. He supposed it was because they were the farthest from his heart.

He didn’t consider himself alive until he could feel his toes again.

It was always the same. Warm up. Eat—if they remembered or cared. That usually depended on who was pulling him out of the ice. It wasn’t always the same person. Sometimes he thought it was, but they didn’t quite look right. Not the same. It didn’t matter. It never mattered. They didn’t care for him anymore than he cared for them.

Warm up. Eat. Briefing. Tune-up if it was necessary.  Mission. Report. Wipe. Freeze.

He was one thing. He was the mission. He was nothing else.

He’d learned it the hard way, but he’d learned it.

“Are you ready for your briefing?” He never knew why they asked him. He knew they didn’t actually give a fuck. “You have a mission.” _No, fooling?_ He sat stony-faced and waited. “This woman is a threat. She needs to be dealt with accordingly. Use any force necessary. Doesn’t need to be clean, just needs to be done.”

They handed him a file marked молния. “Molniya?” He opened the folder to a glossy photo of a woman. Dark hair. Pale skin. Green eyes that looked far older than her face. Emerald colored evening gown clinging to her body in all the right places—but he didn’t have time to think of those things. Did he ever? He couldn’t remember. She looked as though coiled, waiting to strike or be struck. Why would they call a woman _Lightning_? Didn’t matter. She was a mark. A target. A mission. A blemish that needed to be eradicated.

And he was the man for the job.

They were saying something. They always said things. He never listened. He didn’t need to. He could learn everything that was tumbling from their lips from the file in his hands. He couldn’t hear them anyway, not even if he actually put effort into it.

He couldn’t hear them over the screaming in his head. Screaming that sounded like him and didn’t.

***

“Whoah, I’m getting a ride in Lola?”

“No.”

“But you said you were driving me back to SHIELD.”

“Not in Lola. Children who cannot follow instructions don’t get rewarded.”

Steve held the front door open for Coulson and Barton. The morning had been completely odd to say the very least. Never in his wildest dreams did he think that he would find himself in Onheil’s living room along with those two eating breakfast while she hovered and attended them almost domestically.

Onheil was anything but domestic at home. She was casual and bohemian and sharp-tongued and…and she’d seemed almost gleeful to have them all in one place.

Steve realized how stupid he’d been to jump to conclusions. They had to admit it looked bad. Really bad. He knew now what Tony had meant that day he’d come and beat down Onheil’s door and accused her of looking sexed-up—that was certainly the first thing that came to mind when he saw Clint emerging from the bedroom. He felt like he was going to throw up and pass out and have a heart attack. He felt like he was going to have a panic attack. But there was her hand on his arm and her fingernails digging into his skin bringing him back to himself, assuring him that it wasn’t what he was thinking, that he was wrong.

And he knew he was. He always seemed to be. He was trying so hard to simply trust people but that was a hard thing to do when he didn’t even believe he could trust himself most of the time.

‘Who is Lola?” The three of them had turned to her in unison and gave her duplicate looks of disbelief before resuming their feasting.

Coulson helped Clint up into the glossy black SUV. “Come visit me in prison!” Clint drew his head back quickly when Coulson allowed the door to swing shut.

“Thank you for taking care of him. We really should just put a leash on him.” Onheil grinned and said she wasn’t sure that was a good idea; he might enjoy it too much. “Did you pick your team yet, by any chance?”

“I have. Clint was rather instrumental in that, actually. Shall I send you an email or wait to present it to Fury on Monday?” She should shoot him a message. He could start prepping the team that way. Final approval was more likely if everyone was on board and on the same page.

Steve followed Onheil back up into her apartment. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you. For giving me a second chance.”

“And third. And fourth. And fi—“ He silenced her with a kiss.

“I get it. I’m a terrible person.”

“No. I’ve met terrible people. I’ve _been_ terrible. Awful. Unforgivable.” Steve furrowed his brow and shook his head; she rolled her eyes at him. “Trust me when I say that you are not terrible. Confused and misguided and floundering, but not terrible.” She invited him to stay, shocking him yet again. She wanted to hear about his progress with being admitted to art school.

Steve would be starting as a freshman during the upcoming fall semester. “I’m terrified. I don’t even think I was this afraid when I went head to head with Red Scull the first time. I don’t think I was this afraid the first time the bully that lived above us in our tenement beat the crap out of me.”

“Why are you frightened?”

“I don’t want to fail.” Failing at fighting, failing at war, failing at a mission—none of those were an option. There were people that depended on him and people that he could depend on. It was all intuition and muscle memory and forward drive. This! This was different. This was Steve and Steve alone. This was being judged by the contents of your heart being splattered across a page in pencil and ink and paint. If he failed at this it was as if he was a failure at being himself.

“You won’t fail.” She cupped his face lovingly. “You’re brilliant when you stop trying so hard. They will see that.”

“I’m nervous about being a student again, too. School came easy to me. Books and learning and then when I started college—it was all an escape from the world I lived in. It was hours out of my day that I could focus on something other than how hungry we were or how poor we were or how I was going to explain to my mother why the front of my school shirt was bloodied again. It’s been so long. I’m not that person anymore. I can’t just be myself. Because people know me. I’m not just the anonymous waif in the back of the room. I’m Captain America. Everyone will be watching and judging. I won’t know who is interacting with me because they want to know me and who is doing it because…well, because. And what if I have an episode at school? What are people going to say? The press will have a field day and—“

“ _Stop_.” Steve opened and closed his mouth, the momentum he’d gained puttering out. “You still are that person. You are still the anonymous waif. He made you who you are now. He brought you here. Not Captain America. The Captain is the costume that boy wears to let the world know that all of the horrible things that go on aren’t right. He’s still here.” She poked her index finger firmly at his sternum. “The only difference is that now you will have fewer bloodied school shirts. Or at least it is less likely that it will be your own blood.” She grinned to punctuate the jest. “You still love to learn. You still love to create. That has not changed either. Perhaps things will just come more slowly. You _are_ nearly a centenarian. The neurons surely must not fire as rapidly as those being utilized by all of the fresh-faced teenagers you’ll be studying with.” He huffed in annoyance. “And if people want to know you, let them know you. You cannot avoid those who simply want to bask in the glow of your celebrity. That’s not an option in this world. Draw them in. Make them realize who the man holding the shield is.” She held his gaze for a long moment. “And if you have an episode, you have an episode. It’s unlikely, you seem to be doing extremely well with the medication Simmons has developed, no?” He agreed that he did feel better than he had in a long time. He was sleeping more consistently. There were fewer nightmares even if they were no less intense when they did happen. He was less anxious, less on edge. He was usually able to keep a cap on his temper, to let it diffuse or to refocus the rampant energy. “So then all they will see is a man living with his condition—something that came as a result of making this world possible. They should all be humbled to bear witness to you. They owe you, at least in part, their freedom—their lives—the fact that they are speaking English and Spanish and Arabic and whatever other language is floating around this city rather than German. The fact that they are able to wear star-spangled bikinis in the summertime rather than HYDRA approved jackboots.” Steve felt his face go pink. “Now stop making excuses and trying to find a way out.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Suck it up.”

“What’s that?” He tried to change the subject, hating to admit that all she said was right. _Again_. He pointed to the canvas propped up in the living room. He’d noticed it earlier—there was no way not to notice it, it was so large. Onheil shrugged.

“It is whatever was going on in my head when I picked up the paintbrush. Clint said I should sell it when it’s complete.” Steve was slightly mortified. He couldn’t fathom sharing her art with anyone else. He couldn’t imagine anyone else being as affected by it as he found himself. It was all so much a part of her. It would be like selling a piece of her flesh. He shook his head. “You think no one will buy it.”

“No, I think that it’s special. All of your work is special.”

“Steve, I no longer have any space on my walls.” It was true. They were densely decorated with her work at this point. He was always a little bit overwhelmed walking into her home.

“You can hang it in my apartment. I still have plenty of wall space.” He studied the scene for a long moment. “Why don’t _you_ apply to FIT?”

“Because I do not desire the formal education. You do.” She began to gather the dishes they had used from the living room. “You don’t need me there to protect you or reassure you. You need to be confident in your own abilities. You were confident enough at the beginning of the last century, you must be confident enough at the beginning of this one as well.”

Steve sighed and decided to attempt another change of subject. “So you’ve decided who you want for Afghanistan?”

“Yes, I have.” She gestured to the notebook that was sitting on side table acting as a coaster for the coffee cup Coulson had used. Steve handed her the empty mug and picked up the notebook. She snatched it out of his hands. “Did I say you could look?”

“No, but you said Clint—“

“Yes, I said Clint assisted me in my decision. That does not give you leave to snoop.”

“I wasn’t snooping, I’m sitting right in front of you. What don’t you want me to see?”

“There is nothing I think you shouldn’t see.”

“Then why can’t I?”

“Because you will try to change my mind. I don’t want to hear that. You have a personal investment in my interest—or at least I am assuming that you do—Clint is able to see the strategy behind my decisions much more objectively.”

Steve crossed his arms, “I won’t try to change your mind. I just want to know who you’re taking.”

She placed the mug into the sink and turned to consider him. “Provide me with a map, a detailed one, of the area that we are to infiltrate. Then perhaps I will let you read this.” She raised a brow, her expression haughty, the one she used when she was bargaining to get what she wanted. She waved the notebook as if to fan herself.

“Done.” A slow smile crept across her lips and crinkled the edges of her eyes. Steve had the most foreboding feeling of deja vu.

***

“He’s taking you to the ballet?” Loki nodded. “That’s entirely too sweet. And corny. And really, really lame.” She chucked the pillow from behind her head down onto the floor where Drew was stretched out on her stomach, flipping through the pages of the _Mission Book_ , as Loki had come to call the notebook she’d used to devise her scheme for Afghanistan. “I still don’t know why you got back together with him. After what he did…” She trailed off. She did not approve of Loki’s decision-making regarding the Captain. “I know he has issues, and that he wasn’t entirely himself, and _blah blah blah_. But I still have a difficult time having any respect for the man after you told me that.” Loki thought it good that she had neglected to share the details of her most recent confrontation. Drew sighed heavily and closed the notebook. “There are a few people here who have criminal histories or at least a bit of a wobbly moral gyroscope.” She declined to share any details. “That’s private information, let alone classified.” She knew the details as a result of hits coming in from fingerprint searches intercepted from local authorities and background checks. “I don’t think there’s anything too concerning. You trust Barton and Romanov, right?” For the most part. Romanov less so. “Then don’t worry about it.”

Drew sat up and put the notebook on the coffee table and took a hard look at Loki sprawled on the couch. “What are you going to wear?”

“In Afghanistan?”

“To the ballet.”

Loki shrugged, “Pants and a blouse?”

“And those boots?” Loki nodded. “Oh no. Absolutely not.” She narrowed her eyes, “Do you own another pair of shoes?” Loki’s shook her head minutely. “Unacceptable.” She got to her feet. “Get your coat.”

“Why?”

“We’re going shopping.”

Loki found herself practically dragged down to the subway, onto the 3 Train, through Penn Station and into the horrifically large and loud and artificially bright department store. She allowed herself to be herded up rather unstable-looking wooden escalators and toward racks and racks of dresses in all shapes and styles and colors. “Why can I not simply wear something from my own closet?”

“You said you came from a wealthy family, right?”

“Yes.” What did that have to do with anything?

“Don’t wealthy people do things like go to fancy dinners and the theater and all of that?”

“I suppose so?”

“And you don’t know how to dress to go to something extravagant and fancy like the ballet at Lincoln Center?” Drew rolled her eyes and huffed. “I cannot allow you to show up in those awful boots and casual clothes.”

Loki felt her face get hot. “What is wrong with my boots?! Why does everyone hate them? People have been complaining about what I choose to wear on my feet since the day I fell into this city. They are just boots!”

“They’re ugly and glued to your feet permanently, evidently.”

“They are all I have left of home.” Drew opened and closed her mouth like a fish gasping for breath on dry land. Her ears turned pink and she made a stuttering sound. “It is inconsequential.” Loki waved her hand as if to wave the entire last minute away. “What must I wear?” Drew hesitated for a moment before diving into a rack of gossamer cocktail dresses.

Loki soon found herself shoved into a cramped dressing room and ordered in and out of clothing. When she was about to lose her mind and very seriously contemplating turning Drew into a pigeon, she was finally declared satisfactory. “That one. That’s it. You’re buying that.” The dark green cotton-silk dress skimmed her body. It was formal enough for the evening that Drew was anticipating but still very comfortable. The crisscross of white chiffon at her throat was airy and modest. It looked like something Agent Carter may have considered wearing. Loki wondered if that was why Drew had deemed this outfit acceptable.

After the dress was begrudgingly paid for and with much protest and several threats, Loki was dragged toward the shoe department. All of this overwhelming selection, all of these people, the noise, the constantly being asked if assistance was needed—this was why she chose to continue to purchase clothing at the second hand stores in her neighborhood. Anything that didn’t fit quite right could just simply be transformed. This was just all too much. That was one thing living as the second born Asgardian Prince held as a benefit—new clothing simply seemed to appear whenever it was necessary. Occasionally she was measured and poked and prodded with mock-ups of important garments pinned together on her body, but that was more tedious than…whatever this was.

Eventually, she ployed Drew into allowing her to settle on a pair of plain, low-heeled shoes with the promise of being allowed to attend to beautification on the night of the event.

Monday once again brought Loki back to SHIELD and she did it with a smile plastered across her face. Coulson had seemed delighted with her choices. She almost wished she could throw it in Odin’s face. Here she was, putting together a battle plan and having it praised for it’s logic and creativity. It wasn’t lost on her that she seemed to find herself craving Coulson’s approval more and more. In spite of his far lower ranking and clearance, sometimes he seemed to be the man running the show rather than Fury.

Loki detoured toward Steve’s office, paper cup of black coffee in hand. He’d promised her a map. A detailed one. She expected to have it in her hands in moments. She pushed the door open and bounded across the room, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her smile disappeared when Steve looked up and she noticed he was still sporting that beard. She recoiled slightly and settled down into the chair in front of his desk.

“And why do I have the pleasure of an early morning office visit?” Loki pursed her lips and plunked her feet up on the opposite corner of the desk. “Remind me to tell Barton he’s a horrible influence on young ladies.” He reached across and pushed her feet off the edge.

“Map.”

“What?”

“Map.”

“Geeze. Not even ‘Good morning, Steve. Pleasure to see you, Steve. Hello, Captain Darling.’”

“You have not yet earned back Captain darling.” She stabbed at the air toward him with her pointer finger. “And don’t you dare _Lovebug_ me. You haven’t earned that back yet either.” Steve frowned and ducked his head to look into his desk drawer.

“I still don’t know why you want this.”

“To familiarize myself with the area. I don’t want to go in blindly. Not with the potential that Rumlow or Lukin are lurking somewhere.” She took the carefully folded map he offered.

“Our sources say that they’re both in Europe trying to figure out what to do about the shipments and smaller bases that SHIELD has hit. We took out a few more of the smaller ones. Natasha should be back from Argentina this evening, she was supposed to take out the big boss down there while he was on vacation with his mistress.”

Loki opened the map. It was large and featured a detailed schematic of the network of underground bunkers that were being used to house the operation. Evidently a ghost town had been erected atop the whole thing. She hadn’t anticipated that, but it wouldn’t change her proposal for manpower and strategy, it may even play into it even better.

When she looked up, Steve was staring at her expectantly. “Thank you.” She placed the paper cup down in front of him and rose to leave. She had planning to do.

***

Steve wasn’t sure why he was being called up to the conference room. He’d been in the locker room, half undressed and actually looking forward to a round in the boxing ring. It wasn’t often that someone actually agreed to go for a bout with him and he sure as heck wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip by.

But Coulson was insistent. It was important. He needed to get his _star-spangled booty_ up there in the next five minutes. He was sure that he’d heard Onheil laughing in the background. What was up with her today? Her wildly swinging moods since she’s come home had him completely baffled.

So here he was, walking down the hall to the conference room. He’d refused to hurry. He’d taken his time to finish changing into his tee shirt and sweats and sneakers. The wraps for his hands were trailing out of his pocket. He knew he looked disheveled and he didn’t care.

Tony looked up when he entered the room. “Captain Rogers! What’s the first rule of Fight Club?” He barked it out like a drill sergeant. Steve rolled his eyes and took a seat. Onheil was speaking with Coulson in hushed tones at the head of the table. He heard something about pauldrons. He had no clue what they were discussing. Coulson didn’t seem to think whatever Onheil wanted was reasonable. Onheil turned her most pouty face on him. You could practically see Phil’s resolve waver and crumble, “I’ll see what I can do.” Steve knew that feeling. He knew it well.

He looked around the table at the collection of people. Clint was perched on the edge of a table along the back wall. There was Tony sitting a few seats away. May and Ward sat side-by-side. There were several other agents he recognized from around the building or from working with briefly on a handful of missions since the Tesseract debacle.

Fury swept into the room and settled at the head of the table. “Alright, let me hear this proposal, Ferguson.”

Onheil launched into a detailed plan as to whom she had selected and why. Clint was nodding approvingly from his perch, an arm draped casually over the crutch propped up beside him.

Fury’s brow was furrowed, his eye narrowed, his fingers tented under his chin. Coulson looked hopeful. “I like it.” He swiveled his chair to look at Steve and Tony. “But why are they here?”

“I want them.”

“Doesn’t look like they’ll fit in your team. Nor did you have leeway to select anyone outside of the standard agent pool.”

“I need them.”

“Why?”

The map was folded up tightly and tucked into her back pocket. She pulled it out then and smoothed it out over the conference table. There were some additions to it. “All of this,” she indicated the ghost town set up, “is meant to be a distraction. I want to drop my—our—own distraction directly into it.” She indicated the red marks she’d made over the map indicating where the decoy team she was proposing should enter and where the actual team she would be leading should. She explained the movements she anticipated. She identified potential sniper nests. Clint cleared his throat. “I should be fine by the time you all take off. Stick me in one of those buildings. I’ll cover your backs.”

“This still doesn’t tell me why Captain America and Iron Man are necessary. Are you planning on inviting Black Widow to the party as well?”

“Yes, actually. I would like her inside with me.” She explained that she wanted May and Natasha to break off and clear rooms as they moved forward to allow the rest of the team to identify and gather assets. Ward would cover the rear.”

“Rogers and Stark.”

“Will be the distraction. There is a military unit posted fairly close by, correct? Send the Captain in with a group of them as if clearing the village. Send out some false intelligence about it. Make whomever is guarding the place focus on what’s going on above ground.”

“So you want Rogers to go in as a target…as bait.”

“Yes.” Steve raised a brow. She sounded every bit the cold tactician. Like she really knew what she was doing. He had a nagging feeling that her past was far more colorful than she had allowed him to believe.

“And Stark?”

“Let me stop you right there. I am _not_ going back to Afghanistan.”

“I’d like him in the sky. Having quinjets or a hellicarrier is far too obvious, it will draw attention for miles. One man in the sky may go unnoticed. He can advise as to any movement from the enemy and direct the decoy team above ground.”

“That actually does sound reasonable.” The furrow in Fury’s brow had become less deeply cut. “This is a major target. We can’t afford to screw this one up. I’ll get in touch with the unit out there. Not sure if it’s Army or Marines.”

Tony began to protest again. “Stark, your feet never have to touch the ground.” Tony’s nostrils flared. He stopped arguing.

It appeared that all of Steve’s logistical planning had just been thrown out the window.

Coulson was beaming. Onheil looked smugly satisfied. Clint was studying the agents arranged around the room. Steve was fairly sure he was being sent into the desert, in the middle of a war zone, on a virtual suicide mission if the place was heavily armed—by his girlfriend.

Coulson ushered Onheil toward the door after she’d folded the map back up. As she passed him, she placed her notebook down in front of him on the table. “A deal is a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. For those of you concerned as to when and how I was going to introduce Bucky, this is the beginning. I was going to have him come in post-OMGITSLOKI, but I think I have a more interesting way to work him in that will allow me to also utilize plot elements from the movie. So it will be sort of but not really, Cap 2 compliant at that time.
> 
> **SHEILA** , please refer to Onheil's blog. There is a message for you there that needs attending to somewhat urgently. Many thanks.
> 
> This chapter was a bit all over the place, I'm sorry.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	62. Liability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki go to the ballet. And then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Possible _Winter Soldier_ spoilers ahead. If you'd like to avoid them, please skip the first seven paragraphs/lines to the first POV divider.

“This intelligence is garbled. It’s vague. How long?” He didn’t take his eyes off the papers he’d spread out across the table. It made his job harder when the information was vague. He wasn’t sure how he knew that. He wasn’t sure how he knew that the people didn’t look right or that the world didn’t quite look right. Cars were smaller, sleeker. Buildings were taller, shinier. Payphones appeared, disappeared. People started carrying devices that they talked on incessantly. People stopped making eye contact with each other, acknowledging each other in the streets. He knew the world was slipping through his grasp. He knew he shouldn’t ask questions. _You’re shaping the century._ They just kept reassuring him of that. He wasn’t sure you could measure a century in hours-long segments filled with stalking, hunting, eliminating. He could never quite remember what his last mission had been, but he remembered the routine. He remembered his training, his conditioning.

Thaw out. Study up. Hunt. Kill. Wipe. Freeze.

“We’re giving a time frame of twenty-four hours. We’re not sure when exactly she’ll be here, but we know she will.”

The man who had posed as her husband may or may not be in play as well. If he was, he was fair game. “And if the good Captain happens to get caught in the crossfire, well, that could be beneficial as well.” A photograph of a man with a circular shield, a tri-colored suit, and a strong jaw was included in the file. The target was somehow attached to him. The photograph made his stomach turn but they would never read it on his face.

“But Molniya is the target.”

“Yes. She is the priority.” A blunt finger tapped the photograph of the attractive woman he was meant to snuff out. “She cannot be allowed to live. She is a danger to the entire organization. She is a danger to the future of order.”

The screaming had quieted. He knew it would be back.

***

Loki knew she would get what she wanted. When she was called down to what could be considered SHIELD’s equivalent of the blacksmith or the armorer, she wasn’t surprised. The pieces that she’d requested were already being prepared and needed to be fitted to her body.

She’d no intention of leaving the vulnerable parts of herself vulnerable. She could not rely on her magic for everything if she was to focus on so many things at once, if she was to truly lead. When she was simply a warrior in the crowd, it was just that: _simpler_. All she needed to focus on was herself and the opponent that dared approach her.

Sif would die of jealousy if she ever saw the armor that was being made for Loki. _Positively die._

The pauldrons were slim and curved and articulated, the edges fitting perfectly beside the gorget. The vambraces and greaves a welcome and familiar weight to her arms and legs, the greaves fitting easily atop her boots. She eagerly approved of the work, dreaming of the sleek look of herself when she “suited up,” as the Captain could be heard saying occasionally—death draped in black-painted steel and fitted Kevlar, a kinfe in her boot and energy crackling at her fingertips. She practically salivated at the thought.

But she could not think about all of that tonight.

Tonight was for the ballet.

Tonight was for taking back control and steering her love life back onto the course she desired.

Tonight was for living as if there would not be people actively trying to kill her and several people she cared for and respected in some anonymous desert for the benefit of an organization she was quite sure she actually wished to be involved with.

Tonight was for Onheil to have some enjoyment from this life that Loki had created.

Tonight was for sitting through the torture of allowing Drew to make her over.

Loki had cut her hair again. She’d simply stood in front of the bathroom mirror and hacked at it with a pair of scissors, just as she’d done the last time. It had gotten long and she’d learned quickly in the first few weeks she’d spent at SHIELD that it was a liability—too easily grabbed and used against her. The Captain also seemed to prefer it long. If he was going to actively ignore her preference that he be beardless, then she would actively sabotage his own preferences. Two could play at that game and she was the master of gaming.

The cut, however, seemed to be benefiting the style that Drew was meticulously shaping Loki’s hair into. She’d been made to sit for the past few hours with curls pinned in place all over her head. Just when she thought she might go truly insane from not being allowed to scratch at the incessant itch on her scalp for fear of damaging a single curl, they’d all been removed and brushed out and doused with hairspray. “And thus, a new hole in the ozone layer has been created.” Drew laughed at her own joke as she fastened a shimmery clip to the side of Loki’s head.

“You’re going to wear those seamed stockings, right?” Yes, they seemed as though they fit the style of the dress she was being forced to wear.

“I still don’t understand why I could not wear something from my own wardrobe. There is a green silk piece that Steve likes.” A shiver ran down her spine when she remembered the last time that she’d worn it. She swore she could feel the cold tile of the kitchen counter against the backs of her thighs.

“Oh hush, I’ve been dying to get you into a clothing store since you tried on costumes for the Valentine’s show. I still say you should model.”

“And I still say that it’s a poor idea. I do not like to have my picture taken.”

“You let Captain Rogers photograph you.”

“That is different. His photographs will not be published. I do not wish to have my face splashed across advertisements. I am supposed to be living in anonymity, remember?” Drew huffed and continued to carefully craft a steady outline around Loki’s lips. “Please not too much. I really rather dislike having my face painted.”

The finished product was not as horrific as Loki had anticipated it would be. It did not look much different from the way she had presented herself so many months ago when she decided to educate the Captain in what he had missed during his time in the ice.

“When is he coming to pick you up? Please tell me you’re not taking the train—or riding his motorcycle, your hair will get completely ruined.”

“I believe Pepper—you know Pepper Potts, right? She was the one who gave Steve the tickets. I think she’s sending a car over.” With that, her phone began to ring.

“Star Spangled Banner?” Loki shrugged and swiped her finger across the screen to answer the call.

“You ready?”

“What?”

“I’m downstairs, we have to get going. Traffic is pretty heavy, there’s a bus up on the sidewalk downtown.”

Loki glanced toward the digital clock on the stove and down at herself. She was still sitting in a hoodie and shorts. “Shit! Give me five minutes!”

“Onheil, if you changed your mind, I…I understand.”

“No! No! I just lost track of time. Five minutes. That’s all I need. We were cit-chatting while I was being made up.”

“We? What do you have Clint up there again?” His tone was light, joking.

“Yes, Steve, Hawkeye is standing beside me brandishing a mascara brush.”

She swiped furiously at the screen of the cellular phone to end the call and rushed into the bedroom to throw her clothing on.

Keeping to her word, she was into her clothes and down the stairs in the promised five minutes. Drew followed her down, intending to walk over to the subway station and take the train home. She paused on the front stoop, frowning at the Captain where he stood in his well-tailored coat beside the car. She made a motion with two fingers, swiveling her wrist so they alternately pointed at her face and then at the Steve. Loki rolled her eyes and pulled her coat more tightly about her against the chill of the evening.

“What’s up with her?” Steve nodded toward Drew where she was walking down the block in the direction of the subway.

“She doesn’t like you.”

“That’s overwhelmingly apparent.”

“Don’t matter. I like you.” Steve smiled and pulled her into his warm embrace, his bulky arms fitting around her securely, before he opened the passenger door for Loki to slide into.

“Everybody buckled in and ready to go?” A stout man turned around from the front seat to face them. Steve looked at the driver from his attempt to arrange his legs in a more comfortable position.

“Yeah, thanks Happy. We’re ready.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The drive was long; the traffic was stop and go at a crawling pace. “So, I’m the bait.”

“What are you taking about?”

“Afghanistan.” He studied his hands rather than look at her. “Thought I was a complete liability. I’m surprised you want me over there.”

“You wanted to read my thoughts. I allowed you to do so. I knew that you would be offended.” She grasped his chin, turning his face toward her. “Did you want me to lie?”

“No.”

“Then don’t take offense. There were far more positive sentiments than negative ones. If I remember correctly, you were the only person who got more than one page.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that you’re using me as bait.”

“Would you suggest something different?”

“Yes, a cooperative effort. The two of us down there together.”

“We will both be distracted. That will never work. And what happens when they realize that their security has been breached? We are all trapped underground. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel. No, we need someone above to ensure that that does not happen. You function is as much protection as it is to draw fire toward you. And you will be with fellow soldiers who know how these people operate and know how to work in that environment. We will all get in and get out quickly. Minimal causalities on all sides. With any luck, we will be able to take a few prisoners—try to get further information as to who exactly this Red Scull is since you don’t believe it is the same man you once fought.” Steve looked at her with an expression of disbelief. “What?”

“There really is so much that you’re not telling me.” Loki looked out the window at the cars crawling by. “Do I want to know? _Should_ I know?”

“I do not think it necessary.”

“But if whatever you’re hiding is going to put you in danger—put the team in danger…”

“It will not. I swear it.”

“Captain Rogers, it is an honor to meet you.” Steve took the hand offered by the smartly dressed older gentleman that met them at the entrance to the venue. Loki barely registered that she was being spoken to; she was admiring the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. There were couples arranged around its edge staring into the lighted water or into each other’s eyes. “Miss Ferguson?”

“Onheil.”

Loki looked at the man, his extended hand. “I apologize. I was caught up in admiring your facility. It’s quite beautiful.” She took his hand and shook it gently as he thanked her for the compliment.

“Please, allow me to direct you to the coat room.” Steve offered Loki his elbow and she took it, letting him guide her. She was glad she’d let Drew subject her to the brief humiliation of retail and cosmetics. The ladies here were all out in their finest dresses. The men were dressed smartly in suits or tuxedos. Most had glasses of champagne in gloved hands. Steve took his coat off when the man who was guiding them put out a hand for it. Loki couldn’t help but smile. He looked nearly as handsome in his charcoal colored suit with his pale blue tie as he did in his military dress. She heard him breathe in sharply as he helped her out of her own coat.

“What?”

“You look stunning.” Loki blushed in spite of herself.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she brushed her fingers across his smooth cheek. “Now that you don’t look like a caveman anymore.” She grinned when he made an offended face.

The man cleared his throat. The lights in the lobby dimmed and then brightened again. “If I may show you to your box?” Steve nodded and Loki once again took his offered elbow. “I must admit, Captain Rogers, I was rather excited when Ms. Potts informed us that you would be utilizing the box this evening. My grandson is quite the Captain America fan. Might I—“

Steve put a hand up to stop him, “During intermission, please?”

He nodded, “Of course, Captain.” They were shown to their seats. The box was secluded and dim with an unobstructed view of the stage. Steve relaxed once the man and the usher left, the heavy curtains that shielded the box from the hall outside drawn tightly shut.

Loki found herself enthralled. The dancers moved like water. The costumes were intricate and bright. The ballet was a thing of beauty. She watched in awe of the child dancers, of Titania’s grace, of Puck soaring through the air. She wished that there were things like this, things of pure art, on Asgard. She thought that perhaps, her life might have been different if the Aesir had an appreciation for such things. Because what was magic if not art?

She could feel Steve’s eyes on her as she edged forward in her seat beside him. She sighed when his fingers brushed against the skin of her neck as he moved her hair aside, utterly disappointed when the touch was gone.

The lights came up once again for intermission. “You’re enjoying yourself?”

“Very much so.” Steve smiled, his face softened and made young by the expression.

“Let’s got get a glass of champagne and get this Captain America public relations moment done and over with.” He rose from his seat and offered his hand to lead her back down into the lobby and toward the bar. When he handed her a champagne flute she raised her brow at him before clinking her glass gently against his. The strawberry in the bottom of the bubbly, golden liquid had its top cut off, the lobes of the fruit resembling a heart.

“Am I going to find a ring in the bottom of this? I feel as though I’m being set up.”

Steve chuckled, “No, no ring. As stuffy and old-fashioned as everyone thinks I am, I’m not entirely sure I want to be married.”

“ _I’m_ not entirely sure whether to take offense from that or not.” He shook his head and said she shouldn’t take any.

Steve turned on the charm when their host came and found them. He took photographs for the man’s grandson, wrote a message for him on a sheet of printer paper that the man produced. He was thanked, he was gracious in his insistence that no thanks was required—he just asked that he be left alone for the remainder of the evening. “Certainly, Captain Rogers. And thank you, again.” The man moved away and Steve sighed.

“I feel like this is going to be what school is like.” Loki shrugged, it couldn’t be helped. He could always say no when requests were made of him. “I know, I didn’t want to insult the guy though, we’re using Stark Industries’ company box. It would make Pepper look bad.” She nodded, she understood.

“I hope you’ll make at least a small exception?” A young man approached, a press pass clipped onto the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “Peter Parker, Daily Bugle. I was hoping I could get a quick shot? Just one, Captain Rogers. Please?”

Steve inhaled deeply, his chest expanding slowly, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Loki put a hand on his shoulder, “He did ask very nicely, Steve.”

“Sure, Peter. Just one. Make it worth it.” Loki took Steve’s flute from his hand and backed out of the frame to stand beside the photographer. Steve posed elegantly and then put his hand out toward Loki to draw her to his side again. The young man looked disappointed. “What’s the matter? Is it blurry?” He stared down at the screen on the back of the camera.

“It’s just…I…If I got a photo of Captain America with his mysterious girlfriend…” He looked up at Loki, his cheeks pink. “Well, if I managed to get a batter photo than the Times ran back in October—I’d get a heck of a raise.”

Loki pursed her lips. Steve glanced at her and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. She doesn’t like to have her picture taken.”

“I’m a rather private person, Peter. I hope you’ll understand. The photo from Mr. Stark’s party was never supposed to have been taken, let alone published.”

The photographer nodded and let his camera rest against his chest on the end of the strap about his neck. “I understand, I apologize. It was a real pleasure to meet you, Captain.” Steve shook the offered hand. “Miss…”

Loki smiled and shook her head, a finger to her lips. “It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Peter. Now run along. I do believe intermission will be over soon and we have several stairs to climb back to our box.” Loki tugged Steve toward the stairs with her arm looped through his.

“I told you the beard was a good thing. That was the first time I’ve been approached by press in weeks.”

“Nope.” He narrowed his eyes at her, a smile plastered onto his mouth.

The second act was much shorter than the first. Loki didn’t think she wanted it to end. She did know one thing for sure, though; she wanted Steve to make up his mind. Throughout the entire play he had been brushing his knee against hers, letting his fingertips ghost against her hand or arm, leaning toward her and then leaning away. When he’d touched her neck earlier, she thought he’d finally found that little bit of boldness he used to have. She thought he’d finally eased back into himself.

Finally she took his hand and threaded their fingers together. “Make up your mind, Captain darling.”

Steve looked her square in the eye, all seriousness. He cupped her face and pressed his closed lips to hers briefly before turning back toward the stage. “You really do look stunning,” he whispered.

Loki’d had enough.

The ride back to Brooklyn was quicker and quieter than the one into Manhattan. Loki stared out the window watching the lights of the cars and the buildings speed by. “Everything okay back there?” She glanced up to see the driver peeking at them in the rear-view mirror.

“Yes, Happy. Thank you. Everything is fine.” The car fell silent again until they pulled into their neighborhood.

“Who’d like to be dropped off first?”

“You can drop us both at Steve’s building, please.” Steve gave her a quizzical look. If she could read his thoughts she knew exactly what he’d be saying: _We have to work in the morning. It’s late. This is too much. This is too fast. I’m confused. I’m overwhelmed. I’m anxious. I need to stick to my schedule. Tony will have something to say when Happy says he dropped us both here._

Fuck all of that. They pulled up in front of Steve’s building and the driver got out of the car. He came around to Loki’s door and opened it for her, offering a hand to help her out of the back seat. Steve got out and came around to the sidewalk. “Thanks for the lift, Happy. And please thank Pepper for me.” The driver nodded and bid them good night.

Steve was quiet as he led her up to his apartment. He was quiet as he helped her out of her coat and hung it in the closet and then took off his own. Loki hovered close by, hands on her hips as she watched him close the door and turn back toward her. “So, what would you like to do? Hungry? I don’t have much here, but we could order something. I—“ Loki closed the gap between them, putting firm hands on his shoulders and making him bump back against the wall. “What—what—what are you doing?”

“I am telling you what I want.” She pressed her lips to his, easily opening them and pulling back with his bottom lip between her teeth. “I want you. I want us.” She kissed a line over his jaw and down the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne—sharp with orange and ginger. She hooked her fingers around his tie and began to loosen it while he stared at her. “I am tired of all of it. I am tired of wondering if we are together or not. I am tired of you always striving to drive a wedge between us. I am tired of your fear of taking a leap. I am tired of my fear. I am tired of wondering if everything is going to fall apart.” She drew the tie around his neck and off when it was undone, letting it fall to the floor in a whisper of silk. “Either we are together or we are not.” She unfastened his top button, refusing to take her eyes off of his as they became heavy-lidded. “And if we are together, then we are together completely. None of this tentative, nervous fluttering and chaste innocence. We are not new to each other. We are not children.” She continued to unfasten buttons as she spoke. She ghosted her fingers over the sliver of bare chest she had revealed, hiding her surprise that he had not worn an undershirt, as was his constant habit. “What’s your answer?”

His lips parted and he drew in a shaky breath. “Together.” His hands moved from being pressed firmly to the door behind him to snaking around her waist. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “ _Please_ together. I’m tired of being unsure. I just want to be with you.” Their faces crashed together in a battle of teeth and lips and breath and need. “I’m so tired of not knowing what’s real and who to trust. I know you’re real. I know that I can trust you. I love you, Onheil. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped needing you. I never stopped wanting you.” Loki almost couldn’t take him seriously with the firm grip he had on her buttocks, a fistful of flesh in each hand. “I thought you stopped needing me. Stopped wanting me.” She slipped her hand down between the press of their bodies to move her palm against him over the smooth fabric of his suit. She was certain that Pepper had probably had a hand in its choosing. The fit was too modern for Steve to have gravitated toward.

“Does that feel like I ever stopped needing or wanting you?” His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes squeezed shut. “I just want to move on.” She ran the tip of her tongue over the pulse throbbing in his neck. “I just want to move forward.” Her free hand moved to worm between the back of his head and the door, fingers gripped into the short length of hair that had grown out. “I want to be with you now because tomorrow is too uncertain.”

They stood there for a long moment. Breath hot on skin. Hearts pounding. Chests heaving. Hands trembling and gripping and slipping and rubbing. Lost in the bubble of time around the moment. Steve finally opened his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am. I am always right.” Steve smirked and moved his grip on her backside to a supportive hold, easily lifting her. As soon as she was able, Loki wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her fingers behind his neck. As he stumbled toward the bedroom, balance upset by his focus on keeping his lips in contact with _that spot_ on her neck, her shoes fell to the floor with a _thunk_ one after the other. Steve bumped furniture as he moved them. He upset things hanging on the walls as he slouched and leaned for support. The place would probably look as though ransacked in the morning and he didn’t appear to care.

Loki was deposited unceremoniously on the bed as Steve tripped forward and tried to avoid falling on top of her. They laid there for a moment in a tangle, catching breaths and laughing at the absurdity of the moment. They quieted and Steve pushed himself up off the mattress to yank off his lovely oxfords without untying the laces. Loki watched him, annoyed that he had so little reverence for the shoes he said were from a high-end designer. “McQueen, I think?” he’d said. “I thought they looked interesting.” Studs beneath the leather gave the shoe a bumpy texture that Loki had to resist the urge to reach down and feel. Off came the socks. The lovely jacket was left crumpled on the floor. He looked gloriously disheveled.

Loki sat up to stop him from unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, easing the tails out of the waist of his pants and opening it herself, running her fingers over his heated flesh. The muscles of his stomach fluttered and his breath went ragged at her touch. She looked up at him and grinned devilishly as she unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops as slowly as she could manage. “You. Are. Evil.” She giggled throatily and held the belt up before letting it fall to the floor before unfastening the closure on his pants and slipping her hands under the waistband and around his body, smoothing her palms over the round of his behind as she pushed the pants down off of him. She turned herself around and knelt up on the bed as he stepped out of them. She sighed contentedly when she felt his hands lifting her hair out of the way and gliding down over her back as he eased the zipper of her dress open. His warm, rough hands moved over her shoulders as he pushed the dress of them. It caught at her waist and she crawled off the bed to remove the garment fully.

***

Steve stepped back to allow Onheil room to stand in front of the bed to take off her dress. Oh gosh. Those stockings. He fumbled behind himself to find the light switch while she very purposefully draped her dress over the back of the chair by his drafting table. The overhead lights were blinding, he moved to turn on the softer bedside lamp before flicking the switch back off.

“You are so beautiful.” She blushed prettily at him. Somehow, he felt that in her previous life that she had not been told that nearly often enough. He pulled her close to him, the coolness of her skin almost startling compared to how literally hot he felt. He gently pulled the sparkling clip out of her hair and placed it down on the top of his dresser. She looked right at him and refused to look away as he wrapped his arms around her, unhooking the back of her strapless bra and tugging it gently out from between their bodies. He closed the distance between them, kissing her slowly and deliberately, luxuriating in the feel of her soft skin against him as he held her, their chests and stomachs pressed together like there was a magnetic attraction. Her body went rigid when he moved his hands over her back, trying to re-learn, to re-memorize the contours of her body. Her skin had been so beautiful and smooth. Now it was marred by flame. He felt that it was his fault, that he shouldn’t have distracted her at that moment. Maybe she could have shielded herself if she hadn’t turned toward him, if she’d been focused. He didn’t stop moving his hands. He pressed and kneaded and caressed. He worked his mouth over that spot on her neck that always made her turn to putty. Eventually, she relaxed. She melted. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder and sighed, scratching her nails over the back of his head like she was scratching a cat.

“Shall we continue?” He pulled back and raised a brow at her.

“So forward. So bold.” She peeled her body away from his and placed herself in the middle of the bed. “Ravish me, Captain darling.”

He grinned and took one of her feet in hand, running his fingers up over her leg and catching the top of the stocking to roll it down. Her eyes seemed full of fire; her lips formed a contented upturn. He rolled the other stocking down and let it join its twin on the floor. Steve hooks his arms into the back of Onheil’s knees and yanked her body down the bed toward him. She squealed and laughed. It had been so long since he’d seen her look so completely open and happy. It was easy to ignore his own need, to keep a cap on his lust for her, to just continue to hear her make those sounds.

Onheil studied him for a moment, her arm bending and reaching upward to grab a pillow. She swatted him across the face with it and pointed toward her hips. “Off with the underpants!” Her face was so serious, her arm poised to hit him with the pillow again. He couldn’t stop himself, he began to laugh. Full out laugh. His face felt hot and his cheeks hurt from grinning. It felt good. It had been far too long since he truly laughed. Until he was knocked in the face with the pillow once more. “That was an order.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He moved back to roll the slithery, lacy thing she was wearing off of her hips and down her legs. He stopped to strip himself the rest of the way down as well before crawling back up toward her. She clung to him, tangled herself into him. Her hands were everywhere at once. The air felt static. He ran his hand down the curve of her side and forward over her hip, slipping his fingers into the heat between her legs. She groaned, sinking her nails into his shouder blades and rocking her hips to make herself glide against his digits. “Steve,” she breathed. “Condom.” He withdrew his hand and craned his neck to press his mouth to hers as he disentangled himself from her. “As much as I am enjoying this…I do not want to go through that again.”

He froze. His stomach leapt into his throat. His face grew warm. Why would she say that? Why would she ruin the moment that way? He had every intention of doing this the right way. Why couldn’t she just trust him? He felt as though he was going to be sick. She must have read it on his face. She frowned and turned her back on him. Steve flopped down and stared at the ceiling.

“Why would you say that?” It was cold comfort to know that he wasn’t the only person who had a talent for sticking their foot in their mouth at the absolute worst moments.

“I don’t know.” Her shoulders tensed and she curled in on herself. She was shutting down. He knew that tone. It was the tone she used when he was asking too many questions or prying too deep. It was the tone he heard in his own voice too often. “It just came out.” She turned her face as far into the pillow as she could. “And now I’ve ruined it. Just like I eventually ruin everything.”

“You didn’t ruin it.” At least that’s what his head and his heart said. His body was thinking something completely different. They laid there in silence for what felt like an eternity. “Why am I such a liability—for real?”

She inhaled deeply, her back expanding with the force of it, and let the breath out slowly. “Because…because you are Peeta.”

“What?”

“That movie we watched. Ages ago. With the children that killed each other.”

“I’m Peeta Mellark and that makes me a liability?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“I’m not stupid, Onheil.”

“I know you are not. I did not say that you were.” She sniffled. Wonderful. She was crying. He didn’t know how to handle a crying, naked woman in his bed. This couldn’t possibly be real life. “I just said that you would not understand.”

“So does that make you Katniss?”

“I am not that honorable.”

“Don’t say things like that.” She fell silent. Steve turned his body completely toward her, studying her in the yellowish glow of his bedside lamp. “I didn’t get to see this up close,” he reached a tentative finger out and traced the outline of a branch of the tree on her back. “Before…before.”

“I suppose you did not. That’s a shame. It was quite lovely.”

“It’s still lovely.” He moved his fingers over the outline of the figure. It seemed like the worst of the scarring was to one side of her back. He supposed that was because of the way she turned to look at him when he called her name. The burns on her legs had completely healed, they hadn’t been as severe. The scars were as pearly white as the one running down her chest, the edges only slightly raised, the skin a very subtly different texture than that surrounding it. Some of the tattoo looked smeared. Some seemed to have been completely obliterated. There was some kind of twisted knotty looking thing hidden in the roots. He noticed other small pictures here and there as he looked more closely. “The artist did a great job.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait. Did…did you draw it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s really wonderful. What are all these smaller pictures?”

“You tell me.”

“There’s...umm…A Celtic knot, I think? And an anchor, maybe?” What he thought was an anchor was kind of chunky. It had a tinier design within it that he couldn’t make out in this light. He moved his fingers over the designs as he names them, drawing subtle shivers from her as he went. “This looks like a bowl or a cup. And doves.”

“Sparrows.”

“Sparrows. This bit isn’t really clear.” He thought it might be an anatomical heart but it could just be a result of the way the scarring had damaged it. He wasn’t sure. “And this is a scull. And look, it’s a queen skeleton, evidently. Her crown could use some polishing.” Half of the scull had been obliterated completely. “Are you in a motorcycle gang?” Her shoulders bounced slightly in a silent laugh. “Is this a wolf? It looks like a wolf.” She nodded. Thin branches and twigs formed the eye and snout and ear. “And a snake is all twisted up on this branch. He looks kind of annoyed.” Another laugh. At least laughing wasn’t crying. He thought that some of the design of the bark of the tree resembled flames licking up the trunk. A curve in the branch looked something vaguely like a horseshoe. He didn’t voice the opinion, sure that he was wrong. There was something circular, like a knot on the surface. “Is this a moon and star?” Another nod. “What is it all for?”

“People…events…things that have shaped me.”

“Who? What?” She was silent. “So where are _you_?” He let his fingers glide over the design.

“Higher.” He complied. “More.” He moved. “There.”

“These branches?” They curved upward sharply near the top of the tree.

“Yes.” Steve scooted his body closer to hers, pressing his front to her back. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do. I keep telling you that.”

“No matter who I am inside or outside of this room?”

“Yes. No matter what you chose to tell or not tell me. As long as it doesn’t put you in danger to know or not know.” He curled his arm around her, holding onto her forearm and rubbing slow circles with his thumb. “Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

He buried his face in her hair, pressing into the curve of her neck. She smelled vaguely of apples. “I love you, Onheil Ferguson.” She pulled his arm more tightly about her.

“I love you, Steven Rogers.” Steve lifted his head and she turned her face toward him, craning upward to catch his lips. “I’m sorry.” He told her not to be. “Are you still interested?”

He grinned, “I’m always interested when it involves you.” She rolled her eyes at him and he snaked his arm down the front of her and she angled her body toward him. She closed her eyes, a lazy smile appearing on her lips as he rubbed her in small, slow circles. She reached across with her opposite arm to stroke him. She opened her eyes, looking at him with parted lips and flushed cheeks. This woman would be his undoing. He knew it. His hips knew it too as he thrust himself up into the circle of her fingers. Evidently his body was fickle, it wasn’t as determined that the moment had been ruined after all.

When he was hard again, Steve reluctantly pulled himself away from Onheil and left the bed to search for the box of condoms stashed in his dresser drawer. He pulled one out and rolled it on with shaky hands. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to use one—they handed the damned things out like candy during the war, he and Peggy never went without one, he’d even used them to protect the muzzle of his rifle—it was the way she was watching him. Intently, expectantly, propped on one elbow with the most alluring _come hither_ look on her face.

She turned onto her stomach, stretched like a cat and sat up on her knees as he crawled back onto the mattress.  She seemed to be doing everything in her power to entice him. He couldn’t say it wasn’t working. He knelt behind her, spreading his knees around her body, and threaded his hand into her hair at the back of her scull. He used his hold to tilt her head to the side so his face fit into that lovely curve with that magic spot. “Too rough?” She groaned and shook her head, rising up on her knees slightly and reaching down between her legs to grasp him. To guide him.

Steve groaned in appreciation as she sank back down, engulfing him in warmth. She rolled her hips back and forth. She moved subtly up and down. He needed more than that. He pushed her head down toward the mattress, letting go of her hair and smoothing his palms over her back. “Too rough?” Her back and sides were heaving. Her skin was delightfully pink. She glanced back over her shoulder at him and grinned, shaking her head. She pushed back against him.

That was all the encouragement he needed. He tried to keep it slow, trying to roll his own hips with the agonizing pace she was setting as she dipped her hips back and forth. As she rocked on her elbows and knees. He wished he could see her face. He would settle for listening to the sounds she was making, quiet and needy and elegant.

It struck him then, as he watched the curve of her spine straighten and then dip downward, as he gripped her hips to anchor himself in the moment and in their coupling, that she had given over control—at least minimally. The first times—the good times—she’d been on top of him. Even when he’d gained the upper position it was still all her, he’d been so unsure of himself. The last time—he didn’t want to think of it. The last time had been bad. Had been horrible. It hadn’t even felt good, looking back. It had just been about getting off to relieve whatever stress had built up within him, to get her to be quiet and do what he needed her to do. He didn’t think she’d ever trust him enough to hand over control, to turn her back on him in a vulnerable moment, to let him loom over her in a physically dominant position.

Trust and love and complete openness. That was what she was giving him. That was what she had given him since they had first truly become friends. And somehow, he may have earned that back. He had no idea how or why.

Steve worked his hips faster, more firmly. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin and labored breathing and satisfied groans. Onheil melted downward, her hips angling higher so that he had to bring his legs closer together to maintain balance and connection. She simply let him move, just pushing back against him as he drove his hips forward and she gripped the fitted sheet.

He shuddered his release and let himself melt forward over her, covering her body with his as if trying to shield her from the world beyond his bed. They stayed like that, catching their breath, hearts slowing to a more normal pace. “I love you,” she whispered into the sheets. He peeled his face and chest, sticky with sweat, away from her and placed a kiss against her shoulder before easing himself off of her.

Steve went to get rid of the used condom in the bathroom. When he came back she was curled up in bed, his pillows arranged in a manner more akin to the way they were on her bed, a haze settled over her. Steve crawled into bed beside her, pulling his comforter over them as he went. “I’m sorry.” She gave him a bewildered look. “You didn’t enjoy yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” The haze seemed to clear. “Are you apologizing for not making me come?” Steve felt his face get hot, knew he’d turned red. At least she thought it was attractive when he blushed. He just thought it was embarrassing. She smiled at him and drew her body closer to his. “It’s not always about having an orgasm, Steven. Sometimes it’s just about being close.”

Steve kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “What was your favorite part?”

“Your hands in my hair.”

“Of the ballet.”

She chuckled, her breath tickling him. “Puck.”

“Why does that not surprise me? It was because of that costume, wasn’t it? You were just oogling the nearly naked muscley dancer.”

“Go to sleep, Steve. We have work in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry.
> 
> There hadn't been sexytimes in such a while and I wanted Loki to just do what he wanted and push Steve into not being such a yutz about everything. So that happened. For several pages.
> 
> I'm so sorry. Not really.
> 
> I did warn you. You know, Explicit rating and all.
> 
> Just some clarification, because i never feel like I describe things well and I don't want to spend paragraphs on descriptions of clothing and hair:  
> Loki's dress is meant to look something like Lorna Corbett's fancy dress on _Bomb Girls_ and her hair is meant to look something like Peggy's everyday style at the beginning of Cap1.  
>  http://25.media.tumblr.com/bcd7a03dd9f58ee04222235e1d8e178f/tumblr_mkzz483qXM1r9i45mo1_1280.jpg  
> Steve's cologne is Ralph Lauren Romance because I have a weakness for it and his shoes are Alexander McQueen Studded Albert Lace Ups, just because I think they're fabulous and I can picture Chris Evans wearing them because he's fancy like that. He's probably wearing a Hugo Boss suit since that's where Pepper and Tony took him shopping the first time. Fancy fashiony Steve is fancy and fashiony.
> 
> Once again, if you have anything you want to ask myself or Loki or Steve, please don't hesitate to drop something into the ask box on the blog. Anon is always on. None of us are feeling very creative and the purpose of the blog is to interact with the readers.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	63. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking happy and refreshed, sleeping in discontent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED 01MARCH2015: Non-English dialogue correction; "Du er dumme, små gutter." corrected to "Dere er dumme, små gutter ." Please let me know if this is still incorrect in some way.

Steve woke warm and content. He’d slept dreamlessly through the night for the first time in a very long time. Onheil’s body was cool, curled against him like a little spoon. The first rays of light were peeking in through his window and making her skin look rosy and sun-kissed. He didn’t want to get out of bed; he just wanted a few more moments of calm and perfection before he faced whatever the day at SHIELD held for him. Forget predictability. He’d run an extra mile another day. Steve settled himself back down curved around Onheil, face buried in her hair against her shoulder.

“Wake up, Captain darling.”

“Nope.”

“The sky is awake, so you must be awake.” Steve just shook his head. Nosing her hair out of the way, he bit her shoulder playfully. “It appears there is a monster in the bed.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. When was the last time he felt this light?

Steve reluctantly pulled away. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” She turned over and asked where he was going. “Morning dose. Got a schedule to keep.” He slouched toward the bathroom and blinked in the blinding light from above the mirror. He hated this stuff. It was the most awkward thing he did during his regular day. The medication Simmons had designed was dispensed out of a nasal inhaler, like one of those allergy sprays the talking bee advertised. He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed about being medicated. He was well past that. But if he had any say in it, no one would ever see him shoving this thing up his nose. He inhaled sharply as the spray hit the back of his throat and fought the urge to sneeze. He was rubbing his nose and sniffling when he went back into the bedroom. “Hey, I told you not to move.”

Onheil was sitting up, one knee bent and an arm wrapped around it. Her hair was an absolute mess. The little bit of makeup she’d been wearing was smudged across her cheeks. She peered up at him through her eyelashes and patted the bed beside her. Steve didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. “For real, don’t move.”

“Why must I be still? Is there something about to attack me?”

Steve moved through the apartment, taking note of the mess he’d made trying to carry Onheil into the bedroom the previous night. “Whoah!” He brought his knee up, bouncing on the opposite foot while he rubbed the sudden pain from the other at having stepped directly onto Onheil’s discarded heel. He put his foot back down gingerly and grabbed his camera from the coffee table. “You really can’t follow instruction very well, can you?”

Onheil had turned toward the window, staring at the pane of glass rather that through it. Her eyes were unfocused. He snapped a photograph. She swiveled her head back toward him, eyes taking a quick inventory, and arranged herself back the way he had wanted her. The sun had risen higher. The reddish light streaming in through the window turned her into a silhouette with glowing borders. He snapped another photo. She pulled the comforter up from her waist to cover her chest as if made aware of her nakedness by the camera. “For your personal use or for art?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you wake up. Because I want to freeze time. Because I just want to stay here with you and not deal with whatever Fury is going to dump on my desk today.” He snapped another photo.

She narrowed her eyes and grinned, letting go of the edge of the comforter and arching her back in a stretch. The fabric barely covered her; her arms stretched up and back. _Snap._ She leaned over the edge of the bed and snagged his shirt off the floor. She started to slip it onto her arms. _Snap._ She fastened a few of the buttons, looking up at him through her lashes again, the edges of her eyes crinkled in a smile. _Snap._ She rose up on her knees and raised a brow at him. “Give me that.” Steve grinned and shook his head. She put her hand out, palm up. “Give it here.”

“Nuh uh.” She put a hand on her hip. Green-gold light, like dust motes on the air drifted off her extended fingers. _Snap._ He wondered if the colored energy would be visible in the photo. The air crackled with static. “Okay! Okay.” He placed the camera into her hand. She plunked herself back down and scrolled back through the photos he’d just taken. It wasn’t lost on Steve that he’d never actually seen her use her abilities up close outside of the training rooms at SHIELD. She was so casual about it, like it was nothing. How had she hidden it for so long? Why had she? He knew in his gut that she never utilized her talents to their full potential. He wondered for a moment what kind of force she really possessed, what was lurking behind those wild green eyes deep down inside.

“I look terrible. I’m going to have to kill Drew for talking me into allowing her to make me up.”

“You look sexy.” She raised a brow at him. He imitated Tony’s voice, “Sexed-up.” She snorted and pointed the camera at him; he turned his face away, feeling the blush on his cheeks. _Snap._ She glanced down at the preview screen and grinned. Steve dove back into bed beside her before she could take any more pictures of him standing awkwardly in his birthday suit. He pulled the comforter across his hips, laid back, and tucked and arm behind his head. “Alright,” he flexed his muscles as tightly as he could. “Ready.” She giggled at him and took a photo before swinging a leg over him. He moved his hands to her hips. She bit her bottom lip and he found himself compelled to mimic the expression. _Snap._ He smiled, rubbing firm circles over her hipbones with his thumbs. _Snap._ She leaned down and kissed him, long and lingering, before sitting back up. _Snap._

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“And I am yours.”

“And no one is going to take you away from me. I won’t let them. They’ll have to lock me up first.” She placed the camera down on the nightstand and glanced around the room, eyes settling on the drafting table. She rolled off of him and slipped out of the opposite side of the bed to move toward the drafting table. She plucked something off of it, making the cup that held brushes and pencils and markers rattle. “Whatcha got there, Lovebug?” She smiled devilishly and straddled him again, balancing herself with a palm splayed against his chest. She stuck the cap of the Sharpie between her teeth and pulled the marker out of it. He watched as she wrote her name in careful script just under his pectoral. She capped the marker again.

“Now everyone will know.”

He raised a brow at her, “Do I get to write my name on your skin now?”

“You are already on my skin.” He gave her a questioning look and she pursed her lips, clearly not willing to explain anything further. Steve gripped her hips again and flipped their position. His skin felt hot. He leaned down to kiss her as she wrapped her legs around his waist loosely, heels bumping against the backs of his knees. He stopped for a moment to shift to a more balanced position and made quick work of the buttons she’d closed. He worked his lips in a path from hers, over her jaw, down her neck. He nipped. He licked. He sucked. He drew soft sighs and fluttery sounds from her. He skooched himself down, kissing and biting and licking over her collarbones. He looked up at her as his cheek brushed against the swell of her breast, turning his face to give it attention. She breathed in sharply and closed her eyes, that plump bottom lip disappearing into her mouth again. Steve suckled at her skin, biting down and pulling gently. He knew instinctively that the mark he made wouldn’t last any longer than any bruises she’d received in training had—and that had never been many and never for long. He met no resistance when he took the marker from her hand.

Her chest was heaving. He wanted to just touch her. Have her. He ran a fingertip down the path of the scar down her middle. She shivered and stilled. He opened the marker and drew a careful heart sprouting from the very bottom of the line of too-white skin. She opened her eyes and stared at him accusingly. “Now it’s not broken.” She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at his handiwork.

She inhaled deeply and pulled him down to meet her lips. “I have to go.”

Steve let out a strangled sound, “Now? _Now_ you have to go?” Now, when he was so incredibly aroused and just wanted to be tangled up with her, in her.

She raised a brow at him, “Now you know how it feels.”

He knew his face was a mask of shock. “You’re cruel.”

“So I’ve been told.” She gently pushed him away and crawled out of bed. “But I really do have to leave. I cannot show up to SHIELD looking like this.” He watched her walk away. She disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door. Steve flopped down onto the bed. His skin was on fire, his heart was pounding. _Fury. Fury in a tutu. Fury in a tutu playing baseball. Fury in a tutu playing baseball with pink elephants. Fury in a tutu playing baseball with pink elephants in outer space._

***

Loki moved through the motions of the morning at SHIELD. She sat watching her team train. _Her_ team. _Her team._ Her’s. _Not_ Odin’s army. _Not_ Thor’s band of warriors. _Not_ borrowed alien dimwits who couldn’t bank around a curve. Her team.

Her team who appeared to want to follow her. Perhaps not the spider. Black Widow would never want to follow her—but she would follow given orders to an extent since Fury had demanded it of her.

Her team who appeared to trust her. They weren’t simply submitting to her because her glorious not-brother had instructed them to. They weren’t distrustful because of her skill at sorcery. In fact, they seemed to trust her more because of her abilities, no matter what they thought those abilities originated from.

Her team who genuinely wanted her this mission to turn out well, to meet whatever goals were planned. They weren’t simply going for a lark, blindly following her into the void as Thor’s entourage had done—waltzing onto Jotunheim simply because they could, because their prince had decided he wanted to.

Loki glowed with pride. Beamed. Vibrated. Radiated. Crackled.

“Ferguson!” She was pulled out of her reverie by Coulson’s sharp tone. “They want you in the armory. Final fitting before the big show.”

“But I want to see how quickly I can defeat the Calendar Girl again.” Melinda narrowed her eyes at Loki while she finished wrapping her hands in preparation for their bout. She didn’t like the nickname and that was precisely why Loki continued to refer to May by it.

“They’ve got a tight schedule down there. They’re fabricating new suits for a few people. Don’t go now and you’ll have to go in SHIELD tactical gear like everyone else. None of Rumlow’s people will know what a special flower you are when you’re beating the tar out of them.” He scolded her playfully. If she had not liked Coulson before, she was certainly warming up to him now. He was easy and generous with his camaraderie, advice, and general warmth. For what was probably the hundredth time over the course of her employment with SHIELD, she thought that she was glad he had not died.

Loki stood up a stool while a SHIELD fabricator stuck pins through the newly made temperature-regulating under-layer for the Kevlar suit she would be wearing. It was to be nothing like the bulky vests she had seen on the police officers or National Guardsmen around the city. The design they showed her looked much more akin to the sleek bodysuit that Natasha wore. Loki felt as though she were being fitted for new ceremonial robes—like in the weeks preceding Thor’s botched coronation, only…more appealing.

“Ah, Captain, thank you. Your new uniform is ready for final approval.”

“Thanks.” Loki turned her head toward the sound of Steve’s voice and grinned as he walked through the door. “Onheil.”

“Lover.” Steve shook his head, his ears turning red.  The woman working a questionable amount of pins into the garment Loki was wearing very purposefully kept her head down.

“Did you make it in before the water turned brown?”

“What are you talking about?” For once, Loki had arrived at SHIELD well before Steve had. She had been in the communications department with Coulson all morning speaking with the leader of the platoon they would be working with on the mission over a video link.

“Took a shower after you left—“

“A cold one, I’ll bet.” His eyes widened and she grinned devilishly.

“Everything was fine. Went to put on a pot of coffee while I was getting dressed and the water coming out of the faucet was brown.” Loki shrugged, her water had been normal. “Maybe it’s just my building then.”

“Clearly neither of you turned on the news this morning.” Barton stepped out of the dressing room, smoothing down the front of his newly made coat. “Can we loose the sleeves?” The fabricator nodded, jotting down the note on the clipboard he held. Clint looked back at Steve and Loki, “There was a water main break or something right around where you live. Water’s either bad or non-existent in that neighborhood.”

Loki sighed, almost oblivious to the fact that the woman working on her had jabbed her with a pin. She looked pointedly down at the woman, “ _Ouch_.” It hadn’t been painful, but she’d gotten into the habit of pretending to feel things more than she did to maintain her supposed humanity. “I suppose I’m not getting a shower tonight then.”

Steve took the garment bag that was offered to him, “We can stay here in the barracks. I’ve done it often enough. The beds aren’t so bad.”

“Yeah, for someone who slept on the ground for several years of his life?” Clint slipped the coat off and handed it to the person tending to him. “Why don’t you just stay with me until it’s fixed? I’ve got more room than one person really needs. The pull-out is pretty comfortable.”

“You sure about that?”

“Of course. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?”

Loki smiled. She liked these people more each day. She dreaded the time when the moment would come that she had to abandon them and this life. The man who had taken Clint’s coat was leaning over a worktable, muttering to himself as he turned the garment inside-out and started ripping out the seams. Steve slipped into the dressing room that Clint had vacated. “Is that all you’re wearing? I think you should just walk in and swivel your hips. They’ll all be too transfixed to stop us from taking everything we need and won’t remember to bite down on those damned cyanide capsules.” Steve very determinedly cleared his throat from behind the door.

“No, I have quite the ensemble.” She gestured with her head toward the Kevlar cat suit hanging on the rack beside the pants meant for Clint. “There are a few armored pieces as well.”

“I guess they think you’re pretty important.”

“I suppose. I think Phil was excited to help design another suit, especially since Steve has decided to no longer use his previous uniform.”

Steve emerged from the room clad in a dark blue suit made of the same material as Loki’s new costume. The only remnant of his former persona was the white star with horizontal stripes across his chest. “This world doesn’t need that man anymore.”

“It’s much more stealth, Steve. It’ll serve you better in the field.” Clint took the coat, sans sleeves, back from the fabricator. “Much better.” He moved his arms, mimicking the motions of drawing an arrow from the quiver that wasn’t on his back and loading it into a bow. “Much.”

“Are you trying to make yourself look like a comic-book superhero?”

“This coming from the man who actually _is_ a spangly comic-book superhero?”

“He’s got you there, Captain darling. Phil’s got the collection to prove it.”

“I’ll text you my address. I have to pick up some stuff from the store later, but I can meet you there at seven.” He handed the coat back and left the room.

“He’s certainly feeling generous today, isn’t he?” Steve folded his arms and watched the fabricator making marks with a white pencil to ensure that the finished product would fit Loki like a second skin.

“He is generous.”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve never really gotten much out of him. He’s quiet. He’s like Natasha, doesn’t give much up unless it’s completely necessary—or strategic.”

“You haven’t really taken the time to get to know him, have you?”

“He hasn’t exactly taken the time to get to know me either, Onheil.”

“I think that’s a cop-out.”

***

It _was_ a cop-out. Steve hadn’t taken the time to truly get to know any of the other Avengers. He was too wrapped up in his own issues. It was a team he didn’t want to lead but found himself thrust into the predicament of doing just that. Natasha had silently weaseled her way into his life. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he trusted her, but she was the closest thing he had to a real friend since he stepped foot onto the hellicarrier during that first Avengers mission. Tony’s friendship was more like bombardment. It hadn’t come easy. He still found himself rather disliking at least the idea of Tony Stark if not the man himself. He wanted to find an easy friend in Tony—whether Stark wanted to see it or not, he was _so_ much like Howard—but his compulsiveness and his forwardness were just too much sometimes. Pepper certainly tempered him. She was the spoonful of sugar that helped the medicine go down. He knew virtually nothing about Banner, save that he’d become the Hulk while attempting to re-create Erksine’s serum.

And yet, they’d all shown up at his door during that lost week.

They’d all tried to know him.

They’d all tried to be a part of his life. A part of his team.

They’d all tried in their respective ways to be his friend.

It hit Steve like he’d been thrown into a brick wall in a side alley in those days before he’d enlisted. He’d been selfish and unkind to these people who were trying so hard to bring him back into the world—who were trying so hard to be his family—who _were_ his family.

As they walked up to the building on Quincy Street, between Tompkins and Marcy, Steve pulled Onheil a little closer and held onto her a little tighter. She gave him a quizzical look and shifted her overnight bag to better accommodate his arm around her. They stood near the door, close to the wall. They were early. He had pulled her away from SHIELD as soon as he could. He hadn’t wanted to hold Clint up at all, he’d said he would meet them at seven and if Steve had learned anything from his life experiences it was that being late wasn’t always cute. Onheil dug her phone out of her pocket and shot off a text message to Barton.

“What’s going on in here?” She shifted to face him and placed a palm against his chest. Steve said it was nothing. “No, you don’t get those little lines over your nose when it’s nothing.”

“It’s nothing that I can’t deal with.” He forced a smile. At least he was pretty sure he would be able to deal with it.

“Can I help you?” A woman with skin like milk chocolate and a toddler on her hip appeared out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?”

“Can I help you? Haven’t seen you in the neighborhood before. You lost?”

“No, thank you.” Steve repeated the address that Clint had given him.

“Yeah, this is the place. You lookin’ to rent?”

“No, no, we’re visiting a friend. He should be here shortly. We’re early.”

“Then it’s a good thing there was no line at the check-out.” Clint’s voice came from over Steve’s shoulder. He was carrying an oversized brown bag, bursting at the seams with groceries and a large bag of dog food with a masking-tape handle attached to it for ease of transport.

“Mr. Barton—“

“Simone, seriously, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Clint? I’m still your neighbor.”

“Clint. I think the pilot light went out, there was no hot water when I went to do my dishes this afternoon.”

Onheil disengaged herself from Steve’s arms and he took the brown bag from Clint’s arms. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll take care of it as soon as possible.”

“Are you the super or something?”

The woman Clint called Simone shifted the child on her hip and nodded. “Clint owns the building.” Steve and Onheil turned questioning looks on their friend. “When the old landlord tried to raise the rent and force us out, Clint bought the whole damned thing so we could stay.” Clint’s face burned red for a moment.

“Don’t go telling all my secrets, Simone.” He moved toward the door and unlocked it, holding it open for everyone to move inside. “I’ll get these two hoodlums upstairs and go down to check the pilot light.” Simone thanked him and disappeared in the direction of her own apartment.

Clint unlocked the door to apartment H and stepped aside, “And here is my humble abode.”

Steve was overwhelmed by Clint’s apartment. It was Spartan but homey and lived in. They walked through the front door and into an immaculately clean kitchen. The only thing that appeared out of place was the few empty beer bottles on the counter and the half empty bottle of _Russian Standard_ beside two glasses. There was barking from somewhere inside the apartment and a cacophony of nose as a golden retriever stumbled down the stairs, practically tumbling at the bottom. “Hey, Lucky.” Clint put down the bag of dog food and squatted to scratch the dog behind the ears in greeting. The dog appeared to be blind in one eye. “Your breath stinks like pepperoni. Did you get into the leftovers again?” Clint looked up at them and gestured with his chin for Steve to put the groceries down on the counter. “I think you guys can give yourselves a tour. It’s not much, but it’s home.” He stood and the dog moved to sniff at Steve and Onheil, expecting to be played with. “Guess Lucky approves. Kitchen, living room down here.” He pointed directly above his head. “Bedroom, bathroom upstairs.”

What Clint called not much was a spacious loft with impossibly high ceilings. A small target range with a hanging bag and mats occupied the opposite end of the large room. There was a comfortable looking couch flanked by tall bookcases filled with movies and music and books and a large television opposite. From below, the space that held the bedroom and bathroom looked like it had enough space to hold at least a queen sized bed and a full bathroom. Steve was impressed. It was everything a hip Brooklyn living space was supposed to be—minus the gouges in the plywood that covered one brick wall from arrow strikes. “Let me go down stairs and get the pilot light back on and we can start dinner. Make yourselves at home.”

When Clint returned, all of the groceries had been pulled out and laid on the counter. Lucky was happily crunching his way through a dish of food in the main living space. “If you give the tank a few minutes to heat, there should be enough warm water for you to take a shower if you want.” Onheil looked relieved. Steve had allowed her to stop to shower at SHIELD; he knew there would be issues with the trains in Brooklyn if there really were a water main break. She had objected and whined and complained that her hair was disgusting and her body was sore. She’d spent the rest of the day after being fitted and refitted for her uniform—they’d practically sewn the thing right on her body in the end when she continued to insist that it must fit more closely else the additional armored pieces would not move properly—training with her team.

She was building camaraderie with them. She joked with them. She fought with them. She learned how they moved and showed them how she did. She showed them what she could do—blocking projectiles, creating barriers, sending out dangerous bursts of energy. Steve had tried to spend some time down in the training area, but he kept being pulled away by Coulson or Fury or a video link call from the platoon leader he was supposed to be working with.

Steve didn’t like the way Ward looked at Onheil. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her. He looked at her like he was sure of something that everyone else wasn’t, like he was in on some joke. Steve didn’t trust the man.

Clint filled a large pot with water and set it on the stove to boil. “Can we help make dinner?”

“Absolutely not.” He dumped out a portion of flour and some salt onto the counter and made it into a volcano shape. Puffs of the white power came up and clung to the front of his shirt as mixed together some olive oil, eggs, and water in the center of the well and began to knead the whole thing into dough. They sat in silence, watching Clint work with interest.

“Where did you learn to cook?” He shrugged and continued to knead. “Do you cook for yourself from scratch all the time?”

“When I have time. It’s relaxing. The neighbors and I have potlucks on the roof when the weather is nice.” He turned to rinse the dough residue from his hands in the sink. “Water’s warm.” Onheil took that as an invitation to make her way upstairs to use the shower. Clint set the pasta dough aside to rest and started to mix together cheeses and eggs and bright green, fragrant parsley. He set that aside to rest as well then took a jar of what appeared to be scratch-made marinara out of the fridge. He dumped it into a saucepan to warm. The room almost immediately filled with the scent of summery tomatoes and savory garlic.

Steve watched as Clint methodically rolled out the dough to a precise thickness. “Since when do you live in Bed-Stuy?”

“Since I moved to New York.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“You don’t know a lot of things, Cap.” The words stung. They fell silent except for the sound of the rolling pin hitting the counter every so often.

“How did you buy the building? SHIELD pays well, but not that well.”

“I may or may not have a very dark and mostly lucrative past.”

“That much I do know.”

“May or may not have inherited some funds at some point.”

“Parents?” Clint let out a short bark of a laugh. Crap. That was right. It was in the dossier that he’d been given by Fury when he first was approached about the Avengers Initiative. Clint was an orphan. He spent time in an orphanage with his brother until they ran away to join the circus. He’d literally done what every child threatened to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

“My parents are dead too, if that counts for anything.”

“You’re also ninety five years old.”

“You got me.” Clint was carefully arranging the cheese mixture in dollops along one side of the now perfectly trimmed and rectangular sheet of pasta.

“Do you cook for Natasha?”

“Occasionally.”

“So you two are…”

“Complicated.” He folded the bare side of the pasta over and completed the ravioli. He seemed to have made enough to feed six people. He stopped short of dropping the finished product down into the gently boiling water. “I wasn’t trying to take her away from you. I wasn’t trying to sabotage your relationship.”

“I know.”

“You sure?”

“Is he sure about what?” Onheil was bounding down the stairs, tendrils from her wet ponytail like dark tentacles around her neck. “About how wrapped around my finger he is? He’s absolutely sure.” Clint chuckled as Onheil slid onto the stool beside Steve and began to drop the ravioli into the water.

Dinner was relaxed and easy. Clint talked about his neighbors and his dog. He talked about the parties on the roof. He talked about how he chose bows and how he developed his specialty arrows. Onheil nodded along like she’d heard it all before. He asked Steve questions. Some of them were vague and general. Some were more personal or leading. He seemed to know instinctively when he should back off or switch tracks.

As Clint uncorked a second small bottle of what he said was homemade wine from a friend in the neighborhood, Steve chuckled. “I would have never pegged you for such a foodie, Clint.”

“Io non sono solo un uccello in un nido o un proiettile in un barile. Io sono un uomo. Ho sentimenti e interessi come te. Se preso la briga di conoscere me, vedreste quanto siamo simili.” Clint narrowed his eyes and placed a replenished glass in front of Steve.

“You speak Italian?” He nodded. “What did you say?” He got something about feelings and similarities but the little Italian he’d learned during the war escaped him.

“He said he has an interest in a great many things.” Steve got the impression that wasn’t all Clint had said.

“ _You_ speak Italian?”

“I speak several languages, Steve. I thought we’d established this.” Hawkeye was grinning.

“Yeah…well…Je peux parler quelques langues aussi.”

“Dere er dumme, små gutter.” Onheil rolled her eyes and rose from her barstool at the island to collect their empty plates.

The last time he’d led a team it had been a band of brothers. They were bonded through their shared experiences of imprisonment, torture, and rescue. They were bonded through their boldness. Their courage. Their lack of care for themselves and utmost care for each other. If they had been kids on his block growing up they might have all pricked their fingers and mingled their blood to seal the deal. This time it was different. Unless you counted Hawkeye and Black Widow’s illustrious and complicated past, they shared nothing. Nothing save the Battle of New York. Even then, they had not truly worked together. They had all worked so hard to oppose each other and prove who should be the leader, who was the smartest, the sliest, the most logical, the most creative, and the most powerful. Granted, a lot of their conflicts had arisen from the presence of Loki and the scepter and the Tesseract. But if those seeds of discord weren’t already there, would it have gotten as bad as it had. There was no easy camaraderie; there was no band of brothers. It seemed that Onheil’s new team was having a far easier go of that than a group of people—a group of ragtag misfits pulled from every corner of time and space—that had saved the world from an alien invasion and an evil overlord was having. Steve thought about the way Onheil had been so easy and light with the other agents. How they had flocked to her. How even Melinda had stepped aside from her normal position as leader of the pack to allow Onheil to blossom into the position. Steve felt more and more that he’d simply taken the position because it was natural to him. He felt that everyone had been trying to lead and no one was working together.

Watching Clint and Onheil move seamlessly around each other in the kitchen to clean up from dinner, Steve felt incredibly lonely. It was like they had some unspoken, telepathic link. He didn’t fit into this picture.

His missed the Commandos.

He missed Bucky.

As hard as it had been, he missed his life before that evening at the Modern Marvels Expo. Maybe walking away from Bucky and walking into that recruiting center hadn’t been the right decision.

Maybe in some other reality, there was a Steven Grant Rogers who had stayed home and finished art school somehow. He’d learned his best friend and brother was MIA and presumed dead. It had been hard, but he’d moved on with his life because that was what that other Bucky would have wanted for him. Maybe he’d found the right dance partner. Maybe they’d had kids. Maybe he’d become successful as an illustrator—books and advertisements were all over the country with a little SGR in the corner. Maybe he even became a legitimate comic book artist, which would certainly be something. Maybe he’d had a son. Maybe that son’s name was James and he liked to roughhouse and go to ballgames and didn’t mind that his dad got so winded so easily when they played. Maybe he had a daughter named Sarah and she played the piano with a straight back and elegant fingers.

This life, whatever it was, just didn’t seem like it was enough—and for the first time, he knew it wasn’t just his issues talking. It was him. It wasn’t about not knowing how to deal with modern culture or technology or _whatever_. He could do that. He wasn’t an idiot, even if everyone seemed to think he was. It just all wasn’t enough.

***

“Steve. Steve. _Steve_.” His head snapped around to face Loki. “You okay? Where did you go?” She reached forward to touch his cheek and he pulled away.

“No where. I was just thinking. It’s nothing.” He rose from the stool and took the bottle of water Clint was holding out toward him.

“Want to watch a movie or something?” Clint’s eyebrows were nearly gone into his hairline, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that Steve had zoned out entirely for such a long moment.

Loki folded her arms, eyeing Steve suspiciously. She knew him well enough to know he was lying. He’d been off since the three of them had converged in the fabrication department. She just could _quite_ place what was going on in his head. She seemed to be loosing her touch. “What do you want to watch?”

Clint shrugged, “You can pick something from my queue.” They settled onto the couch—Steve and Clint as far to opposite sides as they could get without sitting on the arms—and flicked through the choices available. They settled on a movie and fell into relative silence.

“That Renner is a damned handsome guy.” Clint waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “That bouffant he’s got going on is just entirely too attractive.” Loki laughed and rose to get another bottle of water from the kitchen. There was a golden streak across the room as Lucky bounded over and leapt up into the space she had vacated, settling with his head in Clint’s lap. “Pizza Dog. Don’t be so rude to our guests.” Try as he might, Clint couldn’t persuade the animal to budge.

“It’s fine, there is another perfectly comfortable seat available.” Steve looked up at her questioningly and she winked at him, sliding into his lap. His arms encircled her reflexively as she arranged her feet beside Lucky’s warm body. The dog picked his head up and looked back at her accusingly.

“She’s got cold feet. I know, they’re like dead fish.” Loki pinched Steve’s bicep in retaliation. She was glad he was joking. Perhaps his dark mood was beginning to lift. She spent the rest of the movie half paying attention, half wondering how she came to find herself in this oasis of domestic bliss. She decided that questioning it would be dangerous. Everything was too fragile. Steve looked at her as if noticing her in his lap for the first time. “You stole my pants.” She grinned and said that she had, indeed. She pointed out that she had been kind enough to leave his pajama shirt alone. “What am I supposed to wear?” Nothing would be lovely. Clint objected, he wanted no nakedness under his roof.

“What the heck did we just watch?”

“ _American Hustle_.”

“And that was supposed to be an award winning film?”

“Yep.”

“That was terrible.” He laughed. The sound was comforting. Clint stretched and stood, proclaiming himself wiped out. He disappeared up the stairs, Lucky following close behind. When he returned he did so with a blanket and two pillows but without the dog, who was watching expectantly from the edge of the balcony that housed Barton’s sleeping space. He and Steve unfolded the pullout and made up the mattress. “I can’t thank you enough for letting us crash here, Clint.”

Barton shrugged and tossed the pillows toward the head of the bed. “That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Help each other out?” He moved back toward the stairs, flicking on the night-light at the foot of them. “You’d do the same for me.”

Loki glanced toward Steve, noting the tension in his jaw. She wasn’t sure Clint had gotten his sentiments quite right.

She turned to Steve when the light upstairs had gone out. “Do you want your pants?”

“No, it’s okay.” He rummaged in his backpack for his pajama shirt then stripped out of the clothes he’d been wearing all day. When they’d crawled into bed, he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling through the semi-darkness created by the staircase night-light. Loki turned to her side, propping herself up on an elbow.

“Want to talk about it?” She kept her tone hushed, neither wanting to rouse Clint nor let him hear their conversation if he was not yet asleep.

“Not really. I just can’t get my brain to stop.” He seemed to edge farther away from her, though she was sure she was just imagining it.

“Did you bring your sleeping pills?”

“No. I forgot them.” He covered his face with his hands and sighed heavily. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Really.” His arms flopped down heavily over his head. Loki moved closer, laying her head on his chest.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just stop asking me about it.” His tone was edgy. She took the hint. One of his arms fell solidly across her back and shoulder, hand squeezing the curve gently in apology. At some point his breathing deepened and evened out. The tension slowly melted from his body. Loki knew he’d fallen asleep in spite of himself—now if only she could as well.

She gently lifted his arm off of her and slipped out of bed. If she were at home, she could do something. Work on one of her paintings. Sketch. Put on a record. Watch something. Read. Play with her magic. Practice peeling away the Aesir mask she wore and calling up icy weapons. None of that was reasonable here. She chose instead to push the curtain of the large window between the kitchen and living space aside to stare out into the night.

“You can’t sleep either?” She turned toward the sound of Clint’s voice and the slight creak from the stairs as he appeared. He folded himself down beside her. She shrugged. “Haven’t really slept well since we got back, to be honest. Keep waiting for someone to come drag me away again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“That I could not stop them. That I could not make them stop hurting you.”

Clint shook his head. “Not your fault.” He looked back out the window. There was a sharp intake of breath and a rustling sound from the bed. They both froze for a moment, fearing they’d woken Steve. A soft whimper. Stillness. “They gave me sleeping pills, actually. I just don’t want to take them. I don’t like…” He gestured vaguely at his head. “Not being in control.”

“I know the feeling.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the deserted street below. “You wanna shoot a few rounds? Usually helps me settle down.” He got to his feet and offered a hand of help her up. They moved to the far end of the large space where Clint turned on the track lighting overhead. It was angled to illuminate the targets he had set up there. It didn’t seem to be bright enough to disturb Steve’s sleep if he turned in that direction. Clint pulled out a case and produced a bow, folded compactly. Loki felt the flutter of recognition run through her body. “The ones you use at SHIELD, those are just for target shooting. This,” he flicked his arm out and the bow snapped open. He offered it to her and she took it tentatively, not quite feeling worthy of his trust or kindness. “This is for hunting.”

The weight of it was certainly different. It felt more akin to bows she’d used in her adventures in the woods and battlefields on Asgard and in the Nine. Clint began to direct her stance and grip. “I’ve hunted before.”

“Recreationally?”

“Sure.”

An arrow was pressed into her hand in the dim light. She nocked it and drew back. Her knuckle rested against the corner of her mouth for a moment while she steadied her aim. The arrow flew quickly across the room, sticking firmly in the target with a soft _thunk_. “Nice.” She smiled.

They took turns trading the duties of shooting and pulling the arrows from the target downrange, killing an hour of insomnia. Soft, sad sounds kept floating across the room. The mattress would creak. The blanket would rustle. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know. Nightmare, probably.” She pursed her lips and watched the Captain flop over onto his opposite side for what seemed like the millionth time. She thought she could trust Barton to be discreet. “The newest meds…they’ve helped. He’s so much more stable. He says he doesn’t feel empty the way he did on some of the others, he doesn’t feel foggy. He seems happy, usually. Or at least…not sad. The nightmares have gone away for the most part, I think. Unless he’s just not telling me about them. He still has them sometimes. When he can’t get his mind to stop rolling over things. When he has them, they’re horrible.”

“When he…when he had his… _breakdown_.” Clint lowered his arms, relaxing the bowstring. “I went with ‘Tash to see him once. I couldn’t deal with it. It was frightening. Someone so solid and perfect? Seeing that chink in the armor? Seeing that he _wasn’t_ solid and perfect?” He visibly shivered. “I won’t lie, I’m kind of surprised he’s still _here_.” Loki gave him a horrified look, catching his meaning perfectly. “All the stuff he was holding in? Not really knowing or understanding what was wrong? It’s not like I don’t watch the news or read the papers. I’m not as bird-brained as people like to think. I’m not just all _caw caw, motherfucker._ I know about things like veteran suicide rates and homelessness and domestic violence.” He studied the shadowy bulk on the pullout mattress for a moment. “I guess he really is solid. Or really wants to be.” He lowered the bow entirely. “I don’t think it’s all you, but I think you’re a big part of that. He tries harder now. Before we all met you, it was constantly _Onheil_ -this, _Onheil_ -that, _Onheil_ -says.”

Clint seemed about to continue his soliloquy until Steve bolted upright in bed. He sucked in breath like he was trying not to drown. He battled blindly against the blanket before springing out of bed, a strangled shout escaping his lips. Lucky answered with a perturbed bark, coming to the edge of the balcony bedroom and peering down into the darkness. “On—“ He was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Onheil?”

Loki was before him as quickly as her feet would carry her across the room. Clint was frozen in shock or fear of being discovered or embarrassment at witnessing the Captain’s distress. “I’m here, darling.” She grasped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “I’m here.” His eyes searched her face frantically, his fingers fluttering over her arms and hands and hips and back as if he thought she was only an illusion. “I’m here, Steve. Where are you?”

Clint switched off the target lighting and crept quietly back up the stairs, scolding the dog gently as he went, coaxing it back toward the darkness of the bedroom.

Steve’s eyes were wet. That much she could tell in the soft glow coming from the staircase night-light. His face was hot and sticky with sweat. “What’s wrong?”

He let out a choked sound. “I’m sorry. I’m _sorry_. _Imsosorry_.”

“For what? You’ve done nothing, Captain darling.” She kept her tone light and low, trying to be comforting as she stroked his face, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks to catch his tears before they fell and caused him further anguish or embarrassment.

“I’m terrible. I’m a horrible person. I’m selfish and I’m cruel and I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve _them_.”

“No, Steve, don’t say things like that.” He was sinking down to his knees, his body shaking.

“But it’s true.”

“No.”

He hugged her waist, pressing his face to her stomach while he trembled. She was bewildered. She could deal with his waking up screaming, terrified. She could deal with furtive mentions of blood and destruction and death. She could deal with him holding her too tightly or pushing her away completely. She did not know how to handle this.

This was not something she had ever expected to be doing when she decided she would give in to the Captain’s advances and hopes and desires, when she decided to take him as friend and lover.

He was so broken. Destroyed. He was whimpering into her flesh like a frightened child, muttering terrible things about what a despicable human being he was.

She leaned over him, creating a shield with her body. She smoothed his sleep-mussed hair, ghosted her fingers across his arms around her. What did she find comforting when she had been reduced to a quivering mess? She had always found comfort in Frigga’s arms as a child. Glut’s later on. Sigyn’s after that. The common thread was easy to pull.

“Jeg legges i min vugge nu stundom greder, stundom ler. Min moder har for meg omhu du, bak uro og besvær. Sove nu, sove nu…” It was something she’d heard in her short jaunts to Midgard many moons ago. The rest of the words escaped her, but she remembered the tune well enough to continue humming. She had a vague inkling that the lullaby referred to Steve’s god at some point.

Loki peeled Steve’s arms off of her and lowered herself down beside him, puling him in once again. He seemed to rock of his own accord. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry….” She continued to hum.

“Hush.” She allowed him a few moments. His chest stopped heaving. His body stilled. “Let’s go back to bed.” He nodded against her and allowed himself to be guided back toward the temporary sleeping arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, that was a long one.
> 
> Steve was too happy. I'm sorry. I needed to punish him with some angst. He needed to do some inward-reflecting without Loki or Natasha pointing out to him that he was being a jerk. I also wanted someone else, who was keeping their distance for the most part to see Steve as not-Captain.
> 
> For the bits in languages other than English, if there's a mistake then I blame Google. If you're a native speaker and can make a correction, please DO. I don't want to inadvertently say something terrible.  
> Clint (in Italian): I am not just a bird in a nest or a bullet in a barrel. I am a man. I have feelings and interests just like you. If you bothered to know me, you would see how alike we are.  
> Steve (in French): I can speak a few languages, too.  
> Onheil (in Norwegian, to fulfill **Sheila's** request): You are foolish, little boys.
> 
> The song Loki is singing/humming is _Gjendines_ and the recording of it by Susanna Bearfoot can be found here. It's quite beautiful. http://youtu.be/Zx3xyBMiung  
>  The bit Loki sings is the first part of the first verse, stopping short before the references to Jesus:  
> I am laid in my cradle now  
> sometimes I cry, sometimes I laugh  
> my mother takes care of me  
> inspite of noise and bother  
> sleep now, sleep now
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the little comic/cannon-ish references sprinkled in and the expansion of Clint's character/interactions. I also hope you enjoyed the little reference to Renner--I'm kind of disappointed that no one noticed the one in the last chapter when Loki was snarking at Steve over the phone about Hawkeye doing her make-up. C'mon, guys! :-P
> 
> I also wanted to introduce Cap's new costume for CATWS and at least the idea of Hawkeye's new costume for Ultron--I saw a production shot of him in a coat. It had sleeves, but I like him better without them. I just want to imagine his arms pulling that bowstring, okay? :D Hehe. Humor me. I also love the idea of him harassing SHIELD's superhero-costume-department because those outfits have to come from _somewhere_.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	64. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Possible _Winter Soldier_ spoilers. If you want to avoid them, stop reading at the bottom of the second section after Onheil takes care of Steve.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING: Gore/blood/violence. It won't hurt the story if you skip the chapter entirely if those things bother you.**

“Sarge-it Jims Berns. Three-two…” Steve was stalking through the HYDRA base. He knew it well. He saw it in his dreams often enough after he’d gone rogue and enlisted the help of Peggy and Howard to free the Allied prisoners here. It was too quiet. There were no jackbooted HYDRA agents moving around. He didn’t hear the sounds of the hundreds of prisoners that were being held.

There was only the sound of Bucky’s mumbling to guide him through the labyrinth of the place. He kept repeating his name, rank, and serial number.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, it registered that the number was wrong. Or rather, the number was right, but it was wrong for what Bucky had claimed. People who volunteered didn’t get serial numbers that started with three-two. Those were for draftees. Bucky had lied. He hadn’t signed up of his own free will. He hadn’t joined up. He had gone because he had no choice. Steve knew his friend was trying to protect him. He knew his brother was trying to make him proud. He was trying to hide his terror and unwillingness beneath his bravado and charm.

It had worked. Steve hadn’t realized that until later, after the Commandos had been formed. He couldn’t remember the context of the conversation that had come up in which they all had shared their vital information. Bucky had refused to meet Steve’s gaze when he began to speak, eyes focused on the small fire they had built to keep warm while they waited for the right moment to hike the last mile and infiltrate the next HYDRA base. “Three-two…”

After that mission, they’d laid beside each other on the cold, hard packed ground staring up at the starless, cloudy night sky. “You were drafted.”

“I suppose so, punk.”

“You could have told me, jerk.”

Steve hadn’t been angry or disappointed. He’d been sad, heartbroken, and ashamed. His friend—his brother—his other half—his partner in crime—his protector— _his Bucky—_ he’d been struggling with the fact that he was being forced to fight and all Steve could do was complain that he wasn’t being allowed to. All he could do was babble on about how he wanted to be over there. _In the shit_ , as people today said _._ Fighting on the frontlines.

And Bucky had just been trying to spare him some horror, spare his life, by discouraging him—begging him not to try again.

And now that draftee number was guiding him. “Sergeant James Barnes…Serge James Bahh…Three…Two…”

“Bucky. Bucky! It’s me. It’s Steve.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s eyes searched his face, fingers groping and gripping as he helped the exhausted man to sit up. “I thought you were dead, Buck.”

“I thought you were smaller.”

Steve half dragged, half guided Bucky out of the room he’d been held in. He didn’t have to stick around long to realize that there was some kind of experiment going on. The table Bucky was strapped to and the contraption pointed at his face told Steve more than he wanted to know.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, in the same place that knew the serial number was odd, Steve knew he wasn’t really here. He was lying on a pullout couch in Bedford-Stuyvesant beside a warm woman who was always just a little cold.

“I see you have found your comrade, Captain.” Zola’s voice echoed through the corridors. Steve tried to ignore it, tried to remember the way out. “But can you find the others? Can you save them, too?”

Steve stopped short, causing Bucky to falter. “You okay?”

“Yeah. My legs kind of feel like Jell-o, though.”

“Do you need to rest?” Bucky nodded. Steve ducked into the next doorway, not liking the exposed feeling of the corridor. He eased Bucky down against the wall. It seemed to take all of his strength to hold his body upright against the brick.

“I think I’ve made the game too easy, Captain.” Steve looked up to see Zola sitting casually in a chair in front of the desk at the far end of the impossibly large room. “But that leaves more time for fun.” Bucky’s breathing quickened. He seemed to be trying to dissolve completely into the wall behind him. “You can’t save all of them, Captain. You must make a choice.” Zola rose and turned the chair behind the desk.

“Agent Carter.” Steve’s voice broke. She was silent and stoic and every bit the fierce dame he always knew her to be. Her dark eyes settled on him, the weight of her gaze a heavy burden. She didn’t appear to be restrained in any way. Why didn’t she just walk out? Zola was no match for her; there was hardly a mach for her _period._

“Oh, but there are other people who are important to you, are there not? There are other people you wish you had back? There are people you wish you never had the opportunity to know.” Zola tittered gleefully. “All the players are waiting in the wings to take center stage, Captain. All that waits is the cue from you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Can you just shoot him and be done with it?” Dum Dum’s gruff voice came from someplace unseen. “It’s fucking cramped in here.”

Steve wasn’t exactly sure where the sound was coming from. It seemed to be bouncing off the walls and amplifying. “Where are you? Dugan?”

“I’m hurt, Capsicle. You don’t care about the Earth’s mightiest heroes? I think Banner’s going to go green soon. You better make a choice.” Steve whipped his head around desperately searching for the source.

“What have you done with them Zola? You’re going to answer for whatever it is no matter what. It would make my job a hell of a lot easier if you just cooperate.”

“When have you ever known me to cooperate, Captain?” He smoothed the front of his lab coat down. “Life wouldn’t be very interesting if everyone simply cooperated with you.” He pointed to the gun strapped to Steve’s thigh. “A choice, Captain. Your brother or your lover?”

“No.”

“Do not act like a child. A choice must be made.”

“Steve.” He turned toward Bucky who was struggling to stand. Bucky gave up, too weak to complete his mission without assistance. Steve took a knee in front of him and placed a rough palm against his chest. Bucky’s skin was slick and hot, his shirt was damp. His face was flushed. Did he have a fever? “Steve.”

“Bucky,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can.” Trembling fingers removed Steve’s gun from its holster. “I’m already dead.”

“No, you fucking jerk.”

“Yes.” He gripped the barrel and held the weapon aloft, pressed to his sternum. “It’s easy. The choice is already made for you.” Bucky smiled his characteristic, jaunty smile. It looked tragic on his face, this face that was a mask for a broken man. Steve glanced toward Peggy. She was still staring at him. Still silent. Lips pursed. Waiting.

“Bucky, I can’t.” Bucky took Steve’s hand and arranged it on the grip.

“Yeah, you can.” He placed Steve’s finger over the trigger and let go of the barrel. Steve squeezed. Bucky’s eyes widened in a brief moment of surprise. “Punk.” In an instant, the feverish, struggling, desperate animation of him was gone. He was looking without seeing, his lips parted with silenced speech. Darkness spread over his shirt.

“One choice down.”

“Fuck you.”

“We have a date, Steve. Are you going to keep it?” Steve slid his gun back into its holster and rose as Peggy finally spoke.

“I tried, Peggy. I tried to make it right. I made my choice. I couldn’t let all those people die. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, Steve! Take ownership of _something_.”

“Enough bickering. Second choice.”

Steve rounded his gaze on Zola, “ _What now_?”

“Which team do you want to save?” The wall on the far side of the room seemed to shiver and disappear—a golden, transparent barrier in its place. The Commandos and the Avengers were contained behind it. “It appears the man who is a monster is quite agitated. Make your decision quickly.”

“I can’t. I can’t choose between them! They’re…they’re my family.”

“Oh, but you said yourself, Captain, one of these is not _truly_ your family. You have no connection to them. You have no shared experiences that hold meaning. Surely this should be an easy choice. I think you may only have a few more moments before—“ Bruce shrieked in agony as his body swelled and discolored. A deafening roar shook the room. Steve felt glued to the spot, he watched in horror as Hulk ripped into Commandos and Avengers without discrimination.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind—that small, squelched down place that knew none of this was real—he was comparing this all to a campy horror movie. Something like _Evil Dead_ where all that mattered was how many buckets of fake blood you could pour over the scenery before the director shouted, “Cut!”

Hulk turned toward him, a smile that was more of a grimace painted across Bruce’s corrupted features, and rushed forward as the barrier dissolved. Steve drew his gun and fired. Hulk should have spit the bullet back out. _Should have._ Bruce was lying on the floor, pale an unassuming.

Zola was applauding him. “Excellent. Much quicker in your decision making now, aren’t we, Captain?”

“Listen to me, you little shit—“

“No need for belligerence, Captain.” Zola pushed Peggy away from the desk and she moved to Steve’s side.

“Steve, we need to get out of here, now. You need to wake up.”

“There will be no _we_ , Agent Carter. There will be no waking up.”

“What are you talking about?” Steve angled his body protectively in front of Peggy, half expecting Bruce to rise up again as Hulk and finish the job he started.

“There will only be one person leaving this room alive, Captain darling.” Zola’s voice lost its German twang and took on a familiar lilt. Golden light shimmered over him and he was Onheil. Steve felt like he was going to be sick. “You want your old life back? You want things to be the way they were before the ice? Before the war? Then you have to make a choice. You have to decide who lives and who dies.” She shifted her weight subtly and began to stalk away from the desk, putting slightly more distance between them, moving toward that point in space that the barrier had existed in. “You want all that? Then you don’t get to make the last of your time with _him_ the absolute fullest, the most meaningful. He dies in that laboratory—made into a dancing monkey—rather than going down fighting and fully himself. You never come into contact with dear Margaret. She never helps to turn you into _Captain America_. Neither of you ever find the right partner. Who knows? Maybe SHIELD never comes into being.” She gestured toward the pile of meat that Hulk left behind. “They die in that prison. There are no _Howling Commandos._ There are nameless, faceless soldiers who are just another number in the death-toll tally. The rest? Who knows? Maybe they never come together. Maybe Natasha never goes to the Red Room. Perhaps Clint’s parents never die. Maybe Tony has a chance at a real relationship with his father and never has need of Iron Man. Banner will certainly never be the Hulk because Erksine’s serum won’t work on anyone else—maybe. And Thor? Perhaps he never comes to Earth. _Protector of Midgard_.” She scoffs at the statement. “Fine job he’s been doing, don’t you think?” She edges forward, leaning in and narrowing her eyes. “And we shall never meet. We shall never become close. We shall never be friends or lovers. You will never learn all the things you have. You will never be _who you are_.”

Onheil’s hand came up, palm out and fingers splayed elegantly. In a wisp of green-gold, a sharp blade appeared as if out of thin air. “So make a choice, Captain. Who walks out of here alive? Balance the cosmos, my love. To get what you want you need to live with a little blood on your hands. But I can assure you, none of it will ever be enough. It never is.” In the space of a heartbeat the blade is hurtling through the air and sticking fast in Peggy’s gut. She falls soundlessly. She leaves him as abruptly as she came to him. Onheil’s face turns into a mask of wicked glee. Not for the first time, Steve feels as though he’s seen that face before in another life, on another face, in another reality away from the shelter of his bed and the bubble of time that they exist in when they are together.

Steve does not think. Steve simply reacts.

She laughed as the blade she’d thrown slipped between her ribs. “Good enough decision-making for you?” A storm breaks overhead somewhere beyond the gore-filled room. Even in her dying, she shrinks into herself at the sound of it. “What’s the matter, Onheil? Afraid of thunder?”

“I’m not overly fond of it.” Her smile fades and her body sags. His hands are slick with her blood.

***

Steve woke bewildered and sick with a thousand things and nothing racing through his head in time with the elevated thrum of his heartbeat in his ears.

She wasn’t in bed.

She wasn’t beside him.

She was gone.

“Onheil?” He panicked as he jumped out of the bed, eyes searching the dimly lit room. There was murmuring. It was soft; he couldn’t tell what was being said. Two voices. All of a sudden she was in front of him.

Reality came crashing in around him, his nightmares chasing at its heels. Was she real? Was she solid? Was she some figment his mind had called up?

His hands were dry. Not clean, he could never make a claim to that, but for now they were decidedly dry.

He was still in Bed-Stuy. In Clint’s apartment. There was furtive movement on the stairs. He didn’t have the capacity to worry about it.

His hands were dry and she was alive and there was no storm brewing overhead.

But she _was_ not overly fond of thunder.

He was on the floor with his face smashed against her middle and his arms holding onto her body like he would float away if he didn’t have an anchor. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there. Then she was on the floor with him. Their bodies were swaying and she was singing, humming, some tune he didn’t know. It was soothing. His heart stopped racing. His mind slowed until he could focus on what was purely tangible.

She was scolding him and putting him back into bed. She was slipping her body beside his, making him into the little spoon, making herself the shield.

He was selfish. He was cruel. He was willing to sacrifice everything without any consideration to what had happened in the world because of what had happened to him. What was it? The butterfly effect. Something like that. One flap of the wings makes a ripple on the surface that keeps expanding.

“Onheil.” His voice didn’t feel like his own. His throat was raw liked he’d been screaming. He wondered briefly if he had been. Steve turned himself over, swaddled in her arms. “Don’t ever let anything make you think I don’t love you, or need you, or want you. I don’t want anything different. I don’t want to change anything. I’m selfish and I know it. I’m cruel. I’m disgusting.”

“No, Steve, you’re not. You are selfless. And kind. And beautiful. Why would you think such things?” He couldn’t explain it. He couldn’t put any of it into words. “You need not reassure me of your feelings. I know them as well as my own.” She stroked the side of his face, ran her fingers through his hair, scratched affectionately. She pressed her face to his and he could feel the upturn of a smile on her lips. “I love you, Steven Rogers.”

“I love you, Onheil Ferguson.”

***

They always talked about him like he wasn’t there. It wasn’t surprising. He ceased to believe that they thought of him as human. He was just an asset. A bullet. A blade. A vial of poison. A fist or a foot. A shadow. A ghost. He wasn’t entirely convinced that he still thought of himself as human, either.

His work had shaped the century.

“He’s been out too long. Have you heard some of the questions he’s been asking? We took the dossier away. We should have never included those photographs. It was unnecessary. He didn’t need to be tested that way.”

“They should be landing soon. It’s a waiting game. The mission will go as planned and we will follow protocol as usual.”

He was waiting for the rubber block. The solid weight of it clenched between his teeth was the only thing that seemed real anymore. It was as much a part of his muscle memory as throwing a punch or pulling a trigger at this point. Somewhere, in some hazy nearly unreachable part of his mind, he knew that he’d asked too many probing questions. He’d wanted to know to many details. He’d gotten himself in trouble and punishment would be served in the form of a jolt of electricity and crystal clarity of mind. But the rubber block never came.

A tray of food was placed down in front of him and he ate because he knew his body needed fuel, not because he was particularly hungry. They continued to talk. He stared at the blank wall, his hand automatically bringing the fork to his mouth, and envisioned the man with the shield that they would only give vague details about.

_“I knew him,”_ he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one, just wanted to let you all know what was going on in poor Steve's head that upset him so much. He conjures up such horrible things, he really is his own worst enemy.
> 
> I promise there will be fluff in his future. I can never leave him destroyed for long.
> 
> If you have any specific requests for the story, or anything you want to ask Steve or Loki or have them discuss: please don't hesitate to utilize the askbox on Onheil's blog. Anon is always on.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	65. Come Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki deal with the aftermath of the loft sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to make it abundantly clear to people that this is **_NOT_** , never was, and will never be a _Lady Loki_ story. I'm not super familiar/well-versed in the arc in which Lady Loki exists, but it's my understanding that it is actually Loki possessing Sif and using her body for horrible things. That is completely unacceptable and disgusting.
> 
> This story is not about a genderswapped or genderbent Loki either.
> 
> This story is about Loki, simply Loki, who in mythology can change his form at will through magic. Who has a background involving changing into a woman and spending significant time as a woman. A skill and habit that is shared even by Odin, though there are only short references to it that I can find rather than entire stories/myths.
> 
> Please, do **NOT** call this a Lady Loki story or refer to it as a Steve/Lady Loki ship. You are incorrect and it creates the assumption that I'm referencing a character and story arc that I find utterly abhorrent. If this was a _Lady Loki_ story, i would have tagged it as such rather than as _Female Loki_.
> 
> Thank you.

Clint woke to the sound of his phone ringing beside him on the nightstand. He freed his arm from beneath Lucky’s solid bulk and rolled over to retrieve it. “The fucking world better be ending again.” He blinked in the darkness, trying to focus his eyes on the bright screen. “Jesus Christ, Natasha, it’s four-thirty.”

“Heard you had a sleep over and I wasn’t invited.”

“What?”

“Ferguson and Cap are at your place.”

“Yeah, so? There was that water main break in their neighborhood. Am I not allowed to do something nice for someone? Did I need your permission? Or do you think I need a chaperone?”

“I just don’t think that it was the wisest choice.”

“Everything is fine, Natasha. They’re sleeping downstairs. Steve snores. Onheil is a pillow hog in real life, not just in fancy beds in expensive hotel suites. Everything is right with the world.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Natasha, they’re still asleep. It’s four-fucking-thirty. I’d like to still be asleep, I really didn’t get much rest.”

“Why?”

“Because—“ He paused, covering his near slip with a cough. He didn’t think Steve or Onheil would really want what happened last night—or was that earlier this morning?—to be common knowledge. Everyone knew Steve had issues, but they were still a private matter. “Because I just couldn’t get settled. You know I’ve had trouble sleeping, ‘Tash.”

“I’m coming over.” The call ended before Clint could protest again. He really hadn’t been able to get settled, it wasn’t a lie. He’d just been drifting off in earnest when the phone had started ringing. He slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Lucky, at least one being in that loft should get a decent night’s sleep, and leaned over the railing to peer through the darkness at the sleeping couple below. It didn’t look like anything was amiss. He went to brush his teeth before crawling back into bed. Natasha could let herself in; he was determined to get some sort of rest.

He heard the door open and close quietly as the first intensely red light of morning started coming in around the edges of the curtain over the tall window in the main living space. Once again, he slipped out of bed and leaned over the railing. He shushed Natasha as she let her keys hit the counter and gestured emphatically at the pull out bed. In the warm light he could make out that at some point, Steve and Onheil had traded spooning positions. In fact, you could hardly tell that Onheil was even in the picture. Steve’s arm was hooked tightly around her shoulder and upper arm. His face was pressed into the curve of her shoulder and neck. Even with the blanket obscuring the rest of their bodies, he could tell that Steve was draped possessively over her. Onheil’s hands peeked out around Steve’s forearm and obscured the bottom half of her face. If Clint didn’t know what had happened earlier, he might find the scene impossibly romantic and slightly sickening. He really just found it troubling.

Natasha quietly mounted the stairs, avoiding all of the squeaky ones by instinct and memory. She settled herself across the bed, her fingers twining into Lucky’s fur and stroking his flank absentmindedly. “So what did you do all night?”

Clint rolled his eyes and settled against the headboard. “I made dinner. We ate. Talked. Watched a movie. Went to bed.”

“Sounds exciting.” Lucky opened his good eye and peered at Natasha before dozing off again. Clint envied him. “So why couldn’t you sleep?”

Clint shrugged. “Just couldn’t.” Natasha eyed him suspiciously but didn’t question him further. He was determined not to simply give her what she wanted.

“Clint.” The way she said his name. Like that. So soft. It made his body warm and his heart thrum. He always found himself wondering how often she’d used that voice on a mark.

There was rustling from below. “My heart.” Onheil’s voice was rough from sleep. “Captain darling.” More rustling. “Steve, you need to let go. I have to use the bathroom.”

“Sorry.”

Onheil climbed the stairs, almost seeming to purposefully linger on the squeaky ones. She stretched and ran her hands through tangled hair when she reached the landing. “Good morning, Natasha. Why am I not surprised to see you?”

“Fergu _son_.” Onheil pursed her lips and arched a brow before disappearing into the bathroom.

“Why do you have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Antagonize her. Why? What do you gain from it?” Natasha remained silent. When Onheil emerged, the spider followed the fly back down the stairs.

“C’mon, Barton. I brought croissants.”

***

Loki was vaguely aware that somewhere in the vast space of the Hawk’s nest that there was a phone ringing. She could hear Clint murmuring. A cough. More murmuring. Movement. Water running. Silence.

Steve’s body was draped over hers. He had twisted himself around incessantly until he’d managed to get them into the position he preferred. Once there, he seemed determined to not allow her to leave the bed again until morning. One of his legs was draped over her hip and hooked around her. An arm was heavy over her, holding her to him so closely that she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against her back. His nose was pressed uncomfortably into the curve of her shoulder. Her hands were pinned up against her own chest as if in prayer or supplication.

Loki wasn’t sure how she had slept in such unfavorable conditions, but she had definitely dozed off at some point.

When she ventured back down the stairs, the spider followed her. It hadn’t been the least bit surprising to find her in the loft. Loki sat back down on the edge of the bed and Steve moved toward her like a moth to flame, his body curling around hers. “Come back to bed.” She ran her fingers through his hair, reveling for a moment in the fact that it was growing out. She preferred his old-fashioned look to the spiky mess he had been sporting. “No. The sun is coming up, soldier.” Steve groaned in protest and curled his body in the opposite direction.

The Captain finally peeled himself out of bed when the coffee pot began to beep signaling that it was finished brewing. He rubbed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Loki as she sat perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island. “Good morning.” He kissed the top of her head firmly before she could squirm away.

“Sit.” He slipped onto the stool she vacated and she moved to pour him a cup of coffee.

“Rough night, Cap?” He looked up and blinked, registering Natasha’s presence for the first time.

“Yeah.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his hands around the mug that Loki slid across the island toward him. Clint placed a butter dish and knives and plates out while Natasha cut the twine around the bakery box open. He went to vacate the stool again when Loki came around to his side. She insisted he stay seated. She tore into the flaky bread while Steve sipped his coffee quietly. Clint chattered on about going to pick up something from the butcher shop. “Wait. You make pasta from scratch and you butcher your own meat?” Clint shrugged and explained that he’d spent some time working for a butcher at one point. It wasn’t a skill you forgot, evidently. Loki moved behind Steve and kneaded his shoulders. He was hunched and tense looking and the knots she felt only confirmed it.

There was quiet banter, discussion about the movie they had watched the evening before and what Clint had made them for dinner. Clint invited Steve to accompany him to the butcher. Evidently his legs were still somewhat weak if he stressed them too much. He figured Steve could do the heavy lifting. Steve was too quiet. It was unsettling.

“You should go for your run, Steve.”

“Mmm.”

“Go get dressed.”

“But you’re wearing my pants. I can’t run in jeans.” Loki suggested he run in his boxers. Steve raised a brow at her over his shoulder.

“Would you like me to remove them?” His eyes slid across the island to Clint over the rim of the mug at his lips. He shook his head. “Then get dressed. We’ll go back to your place and you can drop me off at work before you run. You can come back here later.” Clint nodded; he didn’t plan to leave the house until later in the day.

“You can’t come with me?”

“Unfortunately, not. Manager texted me last night to say the shop wouldn’t be open, but he wanted us to come in and do inventory.” Steve nodded and finished the last of his croissant.

“Thanks, Natasha.”

“My pleasure.”

He grabbed his backpack and went up the stairs to get dressed, seemingly unconcerned that he was walking around in his boxer shorts and tee shirt in front of everyone. That was certainly new. Steve wasn’t a prude, but he certainly wasn’t an exhibitionist on any level either. Perhaps he was too tired to care. He looked like death warmed over.

“What’s your angle, Ferguson?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What do you really want? From him, from all of us?”

“Natasha, please don’t—“ She put up a hand to silence the Hawk. He set his jaw and glared.

“I want nothing. He gives of himself freely. As do I. As for all of you, I want nothing more than respect, _Agent Romanov_. I thought I made my own respect for all of you clear when I organized the latest mission. Quite frankly, I thought we were beyond this petty argument.”

“Natasha—“

“Picking a team of agents and special operatives who are at the top of their game, the most successful in the agency, has nothing to do with showing respect. Nor does railroading over a well thought out, painstakingly detailed plan from a top military strategist.”

“You’re only partially right.”

“Am I?”

“Indeed. My choices had much more to do with strategy and intuition than with respect, but it is there nonetheless.  And the Captain’s strategy was flawed. He was not thinking like them. He was thinking like himself. This is not the HYDRA that he knew, if it even is HYDRA—don’t look at me like that, Barton, I’ve done my homework—these people are secretive, furtive…It calls for a completely different mindset when planning a counterstrike.”

“And you know how to think in that mindset?”

“Evidently.”

Natasha reached out and grasped Loki’s wrist almost painfully. “Yesli vy bol’no moyey sem’ye ya zakonchu vas, lzhetsom.” The spider’s tone was low and controlled. Loki remained unruffled.

“I suggest you unhand me, Natasha.” Clint’s mouth was hanging open in shock. “Attempting to bait me isn’t going to work.” Natasha released her grip as Steve’s footsteps made the stairs creak. When he stepped into the kitchen dressed in jeans and a button front shirt, the three were the picture of composure. Loki moved toward the stairs to use the privacy of the bathroom to dress and pull her hair into some semblance of order. After she closed the door, she leaned against it, trying to control the tremors of rage wracking her body. The nerve of that woman. That spider. _That bitch._ She’d do well to keep her pouty lips tightly sealed.

“Clint would you like us to put the bed away before we leave?” Loki stood under the close comfort of Steve’s arm, one hand tucked into his back pocket.

“Nah, it’s okay. You guys’ll be back later, right?” Loki nodded. “And we leave on Tuesday morning, so it’s not really a huge deal if you just want to crash until then, regardless of whatever is going on with the main break.”

Steve smiled, the expression both sad and thankful, “You really are a good friend, Clint.” Barton took a gulp of coffee directly out of the pot and told him not to mention it.

***

“Natasha. What. Is. Wrong. With. You.”

“Clint, I don’t know how you don’t see it, how dangerous she is!”

“Why? Because she has some strange abilities? Because she might be an alien for all the nerds can figure out? Because she give _you_ a run for you money?” He set the coffee pot down, now empty, just slightly too hard. He made a relieved face when the glass didn’t shatter. “She is my _friend_ , ‘Tash. Steve is my friend—or at least we’re both making an honest effort to be that way.” He started loading mugs and plates into the dishwasher. “I trust them. I trust her. I owe her my _life_.”

“Maybe Bruce had the right idea.”

Clint let out a cold laugh. “What, now _you_ think she’s Loki?” Clint knew Natasha had been suspicious of Onheil from the start, but that was truly ridiculous.

“And what did you write down on that napkin?”

“The costume made me think of it. The horns. The black hair. Green eyes. That doesn’t mean she is an intergalactic evil mastermind.”

“Clint—“

“No, Natasha. Loki wouldn’t have done what Onheil did for me in Istanbul. He would have just saved his own hide. She protected me. She made sure I ate and drank. She tried to keep my healthy. She took more torture and questioning than I really care to admit to in order to keep me safe and alive. They beat her. They berated her. They water boarded her. They whipped her. They tried to fucking _rip her arm off_.  Those are just the things I could get her to tell me or that I could figure out myself. I don’t want to know what they did to her when I was blacked out. I don’t want to know what they did to her when she came back and she wouldn’t talk, when she curled up into a ball next to me and shook. They tried to break her and they couldn’t. She’s an asset. She’s a fucking god-send.” He paused, sucking in breath. “Do you know what that would mean for Steve? Do you know what that would do to him? Do you care?”

“I care what I would do to you.”

“I think you need to leave, ‘Tash.”

***

Onheil was quiet until they reached the subway. Miraculously, the car they chose remained empty after they got in. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

“Last night. The bad dream.” She draped her legs over his legs. He pulled her into his lap and held her tight, relishing in the solidity of her. The wholeness of her. The life in her. “Was it the ice again?”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“Bucky and Zola and Peggy.” He leaned back slightly, studying her features. The softness of her mouth. The brightness of her eyes. The almost imperceptible crinkles at their edges. The impossible length of her lashes. The clarity of her alabaster skin. The slight widow’s peak of her hairline. “The Commandos. The Avengers.” He closed his eyes, tucked his face against her shoulder. “You.”

“What happened?”

“Everyone was dead and it was my fault. It was because I wanted to go back. Because I wanted to change everything. I wanted to be the old me again. I wanted a normal life.”

She massaged the back of his head with firm fingertips. “We all want what we cannot have, what could have been. We all want to know what would have happened had we made different choices.” She made him life his head and look at her. “And look, I am not dead. I am here. Neither are the Avengers. They are all healthy and relatively happy as far as anyone knows. All the rest? You cannot change that. You can only move forward.”

She pressed her lips to his with bruising force. “It’s okay to think selfish thoughts. You’re human.”

They fell quiet until they had to transfer trains. Spoke in glances and touches as they held onto the straps in the next crowded car. Onheil walked him to his building. “I’m late. Stop by after your run and I will take my break if you’d like to talk.” Steve squeezed her in a hug before heading upstairs to slip into his running clothes and sneakers.

He paused on his stoop as he set up his iPod before slipping it into the armband. None of his usual play lists seemed appealing. They were all to…something. Not right. Not suited to his mood. He settled on simply hitting shuffle from the main library.

The music that started playing was slow and melancholy in stark contrast to the lyrics. _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey_. He started moving down the block toward the first traffic light, pulling his beanie down over his head as he jogged, warming up his legs with the easy pace. _The other night dear, as I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms._ He ran past the spot where the street was opened up like the bowels of hell were spewing forth in the form of construction equipment, mud, and gruff city workers. _You told me once, dear, you really loved me and no one else could come between. But now you’ve left me, and love another; you have shattered all my dreams._

_So I sleep all day and I dream all night._ He decided that he would run an extra mile or two. He needed to feel the burn in his legs and the race of his heart and the flow of endorphins through his system. _I smile real big just to keep it hid, oh, the truth about my lack of will._ People he knew from the neighborhood kept smiling and waving at him. He nodded or waved when it seemed to demand his attention, ignored it when he might believably have not heard or noticed them. Oh the steep demands of the higher call. He kept getting stuck at red lights. It was driving him slightly insane. _I burned my clothes and gut my soul and pretend that I was never born._ He had to detour around another patch of work. They were fixing the street in quite a few places. It had been turn up by the constant movement of plows and the eating away of salt. _Memories of the moon singing, “See you soon,” oh I was always partial to the sun._

Steve kept running.

_My mind is clearer now. At last all too well I can see where we all soon will be. If you strip away the myth from the man you will see where we all soon will be._

Steve kept running. Peggy was alive. As alive as Onheil. Old. Frail. But alive. He hadn’t made an attempt to see her after they thawed him out, after they gave him the old SHIELD files when they were trying to get him to join up again. He was ashamed of himself for it. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Seeing her. After so long. So changed. He just wanted to hold the image of her sitting in the back of that ugly, phallic looking car as they raced toward the bird that was carrying Red Skull and the missiles before it took off in his head. He wanted to remember her fierceness. Her strength. Her beauty. He didn’t want to see what time had done to her. What time and ice had stolen from him. From them. From her.

_You can bury me in some deep valley for many years where I may lay. Then you may learn to love another while I am sleeping in my grave._

Steve kept running.

_Pose, you’ve gotta save your reputation. They’re close to finding out about your girlfriend._

Steve slowed to a jog when the coffee shop came into view. His shirt was clinging to his body uncomfortably. When he looked down there was a V of moisture gathered at the front of his sweatshirt. He silently thanked the Lord he’d decided to put black sweatpants on. He knew if they’d been one of the brown or grey pairs that he’d probably look like he’d wet himself with how sticky his thighs felt. He glanced down at the pedometer. _Well._ That was certainly a lot more than an extra mile or two.

He slowed to a walk, swiping at the bead of sweat running down the side of his face. The sign on the door was flipped to closed, but Onheil and Matthew were sitting at a table with a binder opened between them. Steve walked up to the door and knocked hesitantly. They both sat up straighter and turned around to see who was knocking as he pulled his earbuds out and tucked the iPod into his pocket. Onheil smiled as she came to the door and unlocked it.

“Hey, stranger.” She kissed his cheek and cringed. “You’re all salty and sticky. How far did you run?” She stepped aside to allow him admittance. “You never break a sweat.”

“Lost track,” he lied. He actually felt better, clearer, less weighed down. He breathed in the scent of coffee. “How are you guys brewing anything with no water?” Onheil gestured toward the big Poland Spring jug beside the counter.

“Couple of new roasts came in, wanted to test them out.”

Matthew appeared with a steaming mug in his hand. “On the house.” Steve accepted it gratefully. He sat with them at the table for a few moments, sipping the coffee and listening to them go over the inventory in pounds and gallons and cases. When the mug was empty, Onheil finally looked up. She announced she would be taking her break and rose from her seat, pulling Steve with her toward the door.

“So what are you planning on doing today?”

“I figured I’d call Clint up, maybe bum a shower off of him then go wherever it is this butcher he’s going to is. I can’t imagine what he’s going to do with all that meat. If we’re leaving soon it’ll all just go to waste.”

Onheil shrugged, “He’s very friendly with his neighbors. Perhaps he is giving it to them.” Onheil’s body lurched forward and Steve caught her with his hands gripping her shoulders. She steadied herself, eyes wide with surprise, and twisted in the grip of the skinny arms around her waist.

“Ellie!”

“Hello, my love.” She ruffled the ginger hair on the top of the boy’s head. He’d certainly gotten taller since the last time Steve saw him. Sue and Reed attended his church but they usually went to the Saturday evening service. He didn’t see them often.

“Hello, Ellie—Captain Rogers.” Steve smiled and Sue and Onheil kissed each other’s cheeks. “Did you guys get a surprise in the shower yesterday too?”

“No, thankfully. We’re staying with a friend until this is all sorted out.”

“We’re heading over to my mother’s house in Queens. Reed took Sam there yesterday. Owen had a test in school otherwise I would have just pulled him out.” She shifted her purse and the overnight bag she was carrying on her shoulder. “Captain Rogers, they’re looking for volunteers over at the church. Handing out bottled water to the parishioners, delivering it to the few that are housebound.”

Steve nodded. “I—I had plans.” His face dropped for a moment, “But I’ll head over there instead, I guess. Thanks for letting me know. Can’t hurt to give back a little.” Sue smiled almost guiltily for having made the suggestion. They said their goodbyes after assurances for Owen that Onheil would not be staying away as long as she did the last time. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll make sure she gets home quick.” Steve grinned and clapped the boy’s shoulder gently. The kid gave him such look; Steve thought he might actually be trying to incinerate him with just his thoughts. Steve withdrew his hand and shoved it in his pocket. Sue didn’t seem to notice the exchange.

“So, I guess I’ll call Clint and then head over to the church.” It made him feel a twinge of shame to acknowledge that he really didn’t want to volunteer his time. He had a life. It wasn’t much of one, it wasn’t the most exciting thing ever, but it was his. And he was actually sort of looking forward to spending time with Clint, getting to know him, getting to see who _Clint_ was underneath _Hawkeye._ Wasn’t that what he wanted everyone else to do for him? He needed to do that for them in turn, _wanted_ to. “Where will you be all day?” Onheil slouched her shoulders and gestured at the door behind her. “Will you come over there when you’re done?” He raised a brow, imitating his blindingly patriotic-boy-next-door expression from the bond tour. “Help out your fellow man? Contribute to your community?”

Onheil pursed her lips and folded her arms. “No.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “At least you’re honest.” It felt good to laugh about something. She said that she would call him when she was finished, she wanted to tie up some loose ends at home before they headed back to Clint’s. Steve pulled her to him and held her firmly. Her arms snaked around his waist and her head rested against his shoulder. “I love you, Onheil Ferguson.”

“I love you Steven Rogers.” She kissed him affectionately and pulled away. “Now off with you.” She stood in the doorway until he reached the corner, and then disappeared back inside the shop.

Steve contemplated going back to his apartment to put clean clothes on. “ _Screw it. If they want the help then they’re going to take me the way I am. If I’m going to give up my time, I’m going to be comfortable,”_ he thought. And for once, it felt good to be just a little selfish.

***

Peter Parker was nothing if he wasn’t a damned good photographer. And he got damned good pictures on pretty good scoops. He’d been visiting a friend in the neighborhood and was on his way down to the subway station when he saw them. There was no mistaking it, even in casual clothing and winter coats: It was Captain America and his mysterious femme fatale lady friend.

Well, Peter Parker was also nothing if not Spiderman, but that wasn’t why he was here.

Peter Parker could not pass up this opportunity. He waited until the woman disappeared back inside the coffee shop. Could that be where she worked? Maybe that was where they met? What an incredibly romantic, sappy story. American hero falls in love with girl-next-door. It was a pretty good headline. It would sell a few papers, even if it _was_ cheesy as hell. Maybe _because_ it was cheesy as hell. And Peter Parker would have gotten the scoop, the exclusive. It was perfect.

Peter hung around the corner, playing with his phone and keeping an eye on the coffee shop. There was the muffled sound of a slamming door from the alleyway between the shop and the building next to it. He walked confidently back up the block and into the alley. _Yes._ It was her. She was hefting garbage bags into the dumpster, clear bags filled with recycling on the ground near the door. “Want some help with that?” He walked up beside her and bent down to pick up the last trash bag.

She froze. Her whole body went visibly rigid. “Peter Parker.” So, she remembered him. “Are you really that crazy?”

“Crazy?”

“To follow someone after you’ve been asked to respect their privacy?” She turned to face him and glared hard. The air felt thick and full of static. The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck rose.

“No, I wasn’t following you.”

“So you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Yes.”

“Did you think that I did not see you loitering down the block? Or while Captain Rogers was with me?”

“I—I—“ He’d been caught. Whoops.

“If you want a story, I suggest you make your way over to the parish Captain Rogers attends. He is doing some charitable work. Get your photo there. Make it quick and leave him be.”

Peter had an odd feeling that if he didn’t do what she said, he’d regret it. She spouted and address quickly and turned back to pick up the bag Peter had tried to help with. “Wait.” She put the bag back down and looked him over. “Take your phone out.” He did. “Turn it completely off.” He did. “Put it away and walk away.”

He did.

The heavy, electric feeling in the air faded to nothing when he reached the corner. There was an echo of bottles and cans hitting the bottom of a dumpster and the slam of a door. The light changed in his favor and he hurried off in the direction of the address he had been provided with.

***

Loki walked—trudged—back to her apartment when she was finished working. Not having been able to get to sleep and then being kept in a unrestful daze the rest of the night with worry and physical discomfort from the way Steve had insisted on holding onto her had certainly taken it’s toll. And that _damned_ kid with his stupid camera. No, he hadn’t been carrying one. Just his phone. At least she’d taken care of that. Perhaps she should have called Steve to warn him. That may have just put him on edge, though. In any case, it was too late now.

She had things to do. She wanted to clear out her fridge, put away laundry, gather up any garbage and toss it down the chute…

But when she let herself into her home, the fur throw just screamed at her for attention. She gathered it up and dragged herself into the bedroom. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Loki was sitting in the woods, contemplating how best to escape this latest punishment. He didn’t think it was quite fair for them to demand his head. Sure, he had made a wager, but it was only in jest. Those fucking dwarves took everything so seriously. And it had only been a little sting and a few drops of blood. The hammer still worked beautifully. They got what they wanted, they were declared the winners. Why not just be happy with that?

Thor had come to retrieve him. Of course he had. “But I have fulfilled your demand. I have given Sif back her beautiful hair. I have given her something better in its place.” Because, of course, she had wanted immediate satisfaction and couldn’t simply wait for her hair to grow back like any other person. No. Not Lady Sif, Wife of Thor, Lady Warrior. “Unhand me!” Thor had simply reached up and plucked him down from the low branch he had been sitting on. “This is not fair! They cannot have my head! I will not submit to death simply because dwarves are nearly as pigheaded a race of creatures as your wife is!”

Loki knew that trying to run would not help. If he disappeared, they would wait for him to return. He would have to return at some point. Thor gripped his wrist painfully. “Liar.” Loki felt another little piece of himself crumble away. They had been close at some point. Or as close as they could be when they were two such opposite sides of the coin. Loki had actually thought that revealing Sif’s vanity would make Thor turn his back on her, perhaps force him to come to Loki for comfort and advice. Stupid. He had been so incredibly stupid.

And now he was going to die.

“Brother, _please_.”

And Thor was going to lead him to his death.

His mind raced as he was led roughly into the council chamber where the dwarves were waiting. They had a claim to his head. An unfair but legitimate claim. To his head. That was it. _Just_ his head. They could not _technically_ touch any other bit of him.

“You can’t take my head off. You have no claim to my neck.”

The dwarves glared and muttered feverishly between themselves. Thor was hovering close by. Odin was sitting at the high seat at the end of the long table, watching closely, golden ring glittering on his arm and magical staff gripped tightly in his hands. Loki’s eyes swept over the room. Freyr was fingering the folded up boat and directing guards as to where he wished the golden boar to be housed.

He was on his own.

The dwarves conceded that they could not remove his head without harming his neck; it would go against the terms of their wager. But they could stop his taunting, his lying silver tongue, his prodding and goading. Eitri grinned wickedly as he produced an awl from his satchel and Brokk unthreaded the leather thong from the front of his shirt.

Odin rose from his seat and walked out of the council chamber.

_Walked out._

Freyr had disappeared along with the guard, laughing jovially as if nothing else were transpiring.

Loki sat down hard in the chair closest to him, the strength in his legs gone at the prospect of allowing the dwarves to do what he was sure they meant to. “Thor,” he whispered. He could feel his brother standing behind him. His impossibly large, rough hands felt like weights on his shoulders, pinning him to the seat.

He could not stop the tears the filled his eyes and ran down over his cheeks in hot, angry streams as Brokk punched holes through his flesh with a precise motion and threaded the cord through each puncture. When it was done his face was wet with blood and tears, the front of his tunic dark with it. He could do nothing but allow it to happen. To fight would be futile, he knew it from the cold look on Thor’s face and the grip of his fingers.

Loki sat alone in the council chamber long after Thor had led the dwarves out. Long after the fire on the hearth had burned low. In the darkness, where he was small and cold and alone, another piece crumbled. He couldn’t open his mouth to scream, but the sound vibrated through him and made his ears ring anyway. _Liar. Cheat. Thief._

_Liar liar._

Loki was jolted out of sleep by the high-pitched whine of the mechanical sounding “and the rockets’ red glare” portion of the Star Spangled Banner screaming out from her cell phone as it vibrated loudly against the top of the nightstand.

The light in the room was dim. Late afternoon. _Shit._

“Hello?” She cleared her throat and repeated herself.

“Onheil? Are you okay? I’ve been trying to call you for an hour. Is everything okay?” Steve’s voice was frantic.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry. My phone was on silent and I lost track of time. Are you finished with your do-good-ing?”

“Yeah. I’ve been home for a while. You said you’d call.”

“I’m sorry Steve. I forgot.”

“I was worried. I—“

“Everything is fine. I’ll be over in a short while.” She hung up before he could say anything more. She knew he hated when she did that, but she simply did not want to hear his concern at the moment. She’d gotten nothing done that she had intended. At least she had slept. Even if she was a bundle of nerves, she was a well-rested bundle of nerves.

Green-gold energy snaked out across the room, lifting and placing and tidying. A wave of the hand cleared perishables from the fridge and garbage from the bin to reappear at the bottom of the chute in the hall. Strands of energy solidified and left the weight of her packed duffle bag on her shoulder. With one last look around her apartment and a heavy sigh, hoping that she would see it again in the near future.

***

That Parker kid from the ballet had shown up at church while Steve was lifting cases of bottled water from the shipping palate into the back of the van that would be making the deliveries. “Hey, Captain!” Steve had cringed and finished what he was doing before he turned to acknowledge the kid’s presence. He’d been polite enough and had certainly respected the fact that Onheil didn’t want her picture taken, but what the heck was he doing here now?

“Hello, Peter.”

“Snow White told me I’d find you here.”

“She has a name. Don’t be disrespectful.”

“No disrespect intended! I don’t know her name.”

“Good.”

“But I know that she works at that coffee shop.” The kid rattled off the cross street and Steve folded his arms.

“Don’t you know what a personal life and privacy are?”

Peter put his hands up, “I was just in the neighborhood. Noticed her. Wanted to get a comment for the Bugle, maybe a photo if she’d let me.” He looked down at the ground for a moment. “Your girlfriend is one scary lady when she wants to be, you know.” Oh, he knew. He didn’t think the kid knew just how scary she could be. He couldn’t help but wonder what Onheil had done to rattle Peter. “She told me this would be a better scoop.” He shrugged and shuffled his feet. “Would it be? Okay to, you know, take a few photos?” He looked at Steve with such earnestness. “It’d be great PR for you, ya know, especially as a follow up to the bit about you having gone to the ballet. Captain America: Cultured and Charitable, Classy Guy from Brooklyn. Hometown hero. All that jazz.”

Steve sighed, “Fine. If you can help with all this then you can have your pictures.”

Peter had stayed for an hour or so until he announced that his Aunt would be expecting him home soon. He took several candid and posed photos with the other volunteers from the parish on his phone. He thanked Steve and then turned to leave. “Captain? What’s her name?” Persistent little thing.

“She doesn’t want people to know about her. She has her reasons. Can you respect that?”

“I’m not going to tell the Bugle. I just wanted to know.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and studied the young photographer. He knew Peter probably wouldn’t give up, especially since he seemed to now know where Onheil spent part of her time away from SHIELD. “Margaret.” Peter raised a brow, clearly expecting more. “Margaret Barnes.”

“I get the distinct feeling that’s a lie.”

“I get the distinct feeling that all I agreed to was a few photos, not an interview.”

“Fair enough.” The kid put out his hand and Steve shook it firmly. “Thanks, Captain.”

“You’re welcome. Better get home to that Aunt of yours.”

A few hours later, Steve quietly excused himself from the whole operation. Onheil should have been done with the shop by then. She hadn’t called. It was fine. He wasn’t worried. She would remember. He sat down at his drafting table, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of him.

He could still be a legitimate comic artist. He could still be published. He didn’t need to go back in time for that. Alternate-reality-Steve could have his success. This-reality-Steve would make his own. He sharpened a pencil and started to sketch, inspiration coming on as suddenly as his anxiety attacks one had.

When it became late afternoon, threatening at early evening, Steve began to worry. When she finally answered the phone it was sweet relief. She sounded like she’d been out cold and he’d woken her. He hated when she hung up on him. Whoever had taught her manners had certainly been seriously lacking. But then, she wouldn’t quite be Onheil if she weren’t so abrupt. He felt a distinct twinge of guilt over the fact that if she had been knocked out in the middle of the day, it was most certainly his fault.

She was ringing the buzzer downstairs within the next ten minutes. Steve jumped up to open the door, hovering in the open passage while he waited for her to appear on the stairs. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. It is now.” She smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Something tells me everything isn’t okay with you, though.” She shook her head, said she was fine just had quite a lot on her mind.

“I want to do something…something fun. Before we leave. Something to hold onto for a while.”

He pulled her close as he closed the door. “Whatever you want.”

“You’re sure?” He nodded, kissed her lightly. She started tugging him toward the bedroom. “Even if it’s something silly like going to ride the Cyclone?”

Steve chuckled, “We’ll ride it until we throw up.”

“Good.”

“And now?”

“And now I need you.”

“For what?”

“I need you to hold me and tell me you love me and put your lips right here.” She let a long, elegant finger glide over her neck. Onheil sat on the end of Steve’s bed and looked up at him expectantly, toes pointed toward him. “Kneel,” she whispered.

Steve obliged happily. He carefully removed one boot, then the other. When he looked up at her, she was breathing in slowly, deeply, like she couldn’t get enough air no matter how full she made her lungs. “You okay?” She nodded and pulled off her leather jacket, unwound the chunky, wool scarf from her neck, dropped both items on the floor. Steve surged up to meet her, planting a kiss firmly on her lips. “What were my instructions again?”

“Hold me.” He pulled her with him up onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around her.

“Check.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you. I love you more than coffee. More than art. More than lying out on the Great Lawn reading in the sun. I love you more than piping hot showers. More than I can find words for. I love you more than I love myself. I love you more than I want to go back.” She smiled and snuggled against his chest. He held her quietly, listening to the steady sound of her breathing, wondering if she would fall asleep and if he should call Clint and say that they wouldn’t be going back to Bed-Stuy that night.

“You’re forgetting something.”

“Am I?”

“Lips. Neck. Now.”

“Yes ma’am.” He shifted them, smoothed her hair out of the way. She smelled faintly of the coffee the way it lingered in the air long after the pot was finished brewing. She always smelled that way after she’d spent time in the shop. It was predictable and comforting and pleasant. He worked his mouth over that spot. He held onto her as she shivered. As little breathy moans and sighs escaped her lips. She tilted her head to the side, granting him further access and putting her mouth in contact with his jaw line. He wondered what lit felt like for her as she dragged her smooth lips over two days of growth. He’d have to remember to bring a razor with him if they went back to Clint’s. He didn’t know why she had changed her mind about his beard so abruptly but he thought it best not to ask.

Onheil pulled back abruptly, all fluttering eyelashes and flushed cheeks. She squeezed her legs around him to shift into what Steve was increasingly aware was her favorite position. Her thighs were warm against his sides, a stark contrast to her cool hands slipping up underneath his shirt. He half expected her to start rocking against him, the way she had that very first night. He gripped her hips, trying to set her into motion.

“No.” She shook her head, a sly smile spreading her lips. Her hands left his chest, came into view again. She smoothed out the bunching and wrinkles she created as she leaned forward. She placed one hand against his shoulder to balance herself as she leaned, hair falling over one shoulder and making shadows against the planes of her face. Her wandering hand found his throat. Her soft touch sent shivers through him as her fingers moved toward his jaw, over his chin. She traced the outline of his lips.

“Onheil.”

“Hush.” She dragged her fingers down, pulling at his bottom lip as it caught against her thumb. She pressed forward and he caught the digit between his teeth. She giggled as his tongue darted across it and pressed further.

He was watching her eyes as she watched his mouth. Her lips dropped open as he moved his tongue around her thumb, sucking like it was an ice pop. She exhaled heavily and her eyes widened. Her cheeks flushed with color. She looked like she might just devour him.

She slowly pulled back against the suction, withdrawing her thumb as Steve’s cheeks hollowed. “Oh, that _mouth_.” She lowered herself down, slipping her hands beneath his shoulders and clinging to him like a koala. “That mouth is going to get you into such trouble.” He chuckled and put his arms around her.

“You’re so frustrating.”

“Am I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, my name does mean _mischief_. I suppose it’s just in my nature.” She sighed contentedly. “You’re mine.” It was a random and totally affirmative statement.

“Onheil?” She made an inquiring sound as she tugged gently on his earlobe wither teeth. She was absolutely doing this on purpose. There was no question about it. “Can I ask you something really serious?”

“And spoil the bundle of nerves I’m turning you into?” She sat up and grinned, lifting her weight slightly for Steve to scoot up against the headboard. “If you must.” He lifted his knees and she leaned back against the incline.

“Why did you really take those pictures down?” She raised a brow. Steve knew she was playing stupid. “Onheil.”

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because…because I had no intention of going to Istanbul. I was leaving.”

“Leaving SHIELD?” Steve’s turn to play stupid to try to coax more of an explanation out of her. She gave him an annoyed sort of haughty glare but continued anyway.

“Leaving you. Leaving New York. Leaving all of this.”

“Why?”

“Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of being known. Of being compromised.” He gave her a genuinely confused look. Maybe she and Natasha weren’t getting along because they sounded so damned much alike. “But I didn’t do it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I stayed. I went. I came back to you.”

“You did.”

“That has to count for something.” Steve took her hand in his, pressed his lips to her knuckles. She had been planning on jumping ship—and she was going to take his drawing and the poster from the museum with her. The packed bag sitting on the bed made more sense now, it wasn’t just recently cleaned laundry. But she was going to take those things, those incredibly meaningful things, with her. She was taking _him_ with her. And if she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t decided to go to Istanbul, would Clint still be here? Would he be okay? Would he have lost his leg? Steve thought he could feel his heart swelling and breaking in his chest.

“It counts for a lot.” He threaded their fingers together and stared at her, studying her until she looked away, a blush on her cheeks. “What’s up between you and Natasha?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m an old man, but I’m not deaf. I heard you guys arguing while I was getting dressed.”

“You did, did you?” He nodded. “She does not trust me. She thinks that I am using you, SHIELD, Clint, the Avengers.” Her features hardened and turned serious. “I am not.”

“I know you’re not. I thought you and Natasha were past this?” Onheil shrugged and looked around the room like she was looking for a way out of the conversation. She took her hands back and climbed off of him and the bed, moving to the seat at the drafting table. “Don’t look at that. It’s not finished.”

She looked anyway. There were five sheets of crisp paper spread out on the table. Some of the panels were rough sketches. Some were fully penciled. Some were inked. None had any dialogue; he’d wanted to convey the beginning of the story completely through expression and movement.

The first page, though, the first page was complete and brought to life in inky black, bold green, and soft orangey-yellow. _Splash! Thump-thump-thump. Crackle. Gasp!_ The center of the page was covered with a pair of wild green eyes in a bold horizontal panel. “Is this us?”

Steve sat up cross-legged on the bed. “Yeah.” His ears were hot and red with embarrassment. Onheil ran her fingers over the clean white borders of each page.

“You never stop amazing me.” She looked over her shoulder at him. That smile finally reached her eyes.

When they finally got back to Bedford-Stuyvesant, they were quiet and content. Steve was oddly confident that he’d sleep through the night. When he got up in the morning, he and Onheil would go for a short jog together. Steve would take the train back to their neighborhood for Mass and to make sure that they didn’t need him to help out any more

“Will you take a ride with me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Where are we going?”

“Down to Rockland. Joe lives down there. His family is in town; he asked if I’d come for dinner. Told me to bring my interesting lady friend.”

“Who?”

“Remember the older gentleman from that whole media blitz thing?”

“The one who you saved. He was one of the four hundred.”

Steve could feel himself blush. He really needed to kick that habit. “Yeah. We’ve kept in contact. He’s got a wicked sense of humor. We email back and forth.” Onheil was grinning at him. “What?”

“You made a friend. A cute little old man friend. I bet you send each other dancing cat videos and talk about how you can’t seem to keep the kids off your lawn.”

“Shut up.” She giggled manically. Steve inhaled deeply, exasperated by her glee. “Do you smell barbeque?” Onheil stopped, breathed in, nodded. “Who the heck has their grill out in April?” When they let themselves into Clint’s building using the key he’d furnished them with before they left that morning, they had their answer.

_Lovebirds—Roof—C._

There was Clint, bundled up in his winter coat, casually prodding at steaks sizzling away on the grill. “I was wondering when you two would show up. Thought the smell of food might lead the prodigal children home.” He raised a brow at them and gestured to the cooler on the table that was bolted down near the middle of the roof. It was cold up on top of the building. The chilly breeze felt like a whipping wind as it moved the smoke around Clint in a fragrant billow.

“I’m so sorry, Clint. I know I said I would go with you—“

“It’s no problem. I had them carve it up at the shop, hopped a cab home. Put most of it down in the freezer in the basement, but I thought we all deserved these.” Onheil fished around in the cooler and popped the cap off of a bottle with the edge of the table before handing it to Clint. She repeated the gesture and offered it up to Steve.

“Rogue Dead Guy?”

“Try it. You’ll like it.”

Soon enough, they were back down in the loft, cross-legged on the floor with the cooler and a platter full of vegetables in the middle of their circle.

“No Black Widow?”

“Nope.”

“Did my being here cause a problem between you two? Clint, I’m sorry, I really—“

“Don’t worry about it, Onheil.”

“But—“

“Don’t. We’ve had our issues for a while. She’s still got my back in a fight. That’s all that really matters.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll leave it alone. She needs to learn that she can’t…she can’t…she can’t do that.” Clint chewed thoughtfully, his knife gripped in one fist, fork in the other. “Ever since the whole Tesseract thing. She’s trying to do good. I know that. But she can’t keep…hovering.” Clint hacked a chunk off of his own steak and offered it up to Lucky when he came sniffing.

They fell silent, the only sounds filling the room that of chewing and the clink and scrape of silverware against dishes. Full and content, Clint leaned back and pushed his stomach out with a grin on his face. “Do I make a mean steak or what?”

As Steve helped Clint load their plates and utensils into the dishwasher, he couldn’t help but think of how wrong he’d been. This was his family. He had a place. He fit in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, that was a long one.
> 
> Natasha's little bit in Russian was "If you hurt my family I will end you, liar." She was totally calling Loki out. As always, if there's a problem with the translation and you can advise, please do. If there's an error, I blame the Google.
> 
> Steve's Improvised Running Playlist:  
>  _You Are My Sunshine_ -The Civil Wars  
>  _Beggar's Guild_ -Roadkill Ghost Choir  
>  _Heaven On Their Minds_ -Jesus Christ Superstar  
>  _I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow_ -Soggy Bottom Boys (Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?)  
>  _Girls/Girls/Boys_ -Panic! at the Disco
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. Go check out Onheil's blog and click on the Fan Art link, there's some really cool stuff in there! :D


	66. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple visits with Steve's friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Complications with pregnancy and still-birth. Rather un-modern dealing with the aftermath following (although somewhat inspired by Norsefuneral rites? Ish? I've been watching too much _Vikings._ ). Seriously, if you're bothered by any of that don't read any of the section in which Loki is "he/him."
> 
> **SPOILER WARNING:** Possible, most likely not, but just to be safe-- _Winter Soldier_ spoiler alert at the end. If you want to avoid it then stop reading after the BFF Grandpas say goodbye.

Steve relished the feeling of Onheil’s arms wrapped around his torso and her legs around his body as the bike thrummed against them and against the road. The wind bit at the few slivers of exposed skin here and there but she was warm against him. He couldn’t keep the stupid smile off of his face as he watched Paramus speed by him as he traveled through New Jersey to get into Rockland. The last time he’d spared any thought for Paramus it had been to falsify his latest enlistment attempt. They’d told him later on that Paramus had been the last straw. If Erksine hadn’t taken an interest in him he would have found his scrawny behind in jail. Brooklyn, Bridgeton, Red Ban, New Haven, Paramus. _No persons shall be permitted to apply for enlistment in any precinct or district other than the one in which the person has his legal residence in which the person is registered._ Paramus was a hell of a lot different than he remembered it.

“You ever been to Jersey?” Steve flipped his visor up and shouted back at Onheil as they sat in a particularly slow patch of traffic. He refused to be one of those assholes that took advantage of having a smaller vehicle and rode the line or the shoulder. She nodded, flipped her visor up and reminded him that they had spent a weekend down the shore. “No, I mean just Jersey in general.” She shook her head. “Used to be different. Not as many shopping malls. Hoboken and Jersey City were pretty interesting places. ‘Lotta other immigrant families, small family-owned businesses.” Someone behind him beeped and he was shaken out of his reverie. They snapped their visors back down and continued on their way.

Joe and his wife were standing on the front porch together as Steve pulled the bike into the cul-de-sac. Steve waited for Onheil to slip gingerly off the back of the bike, gracefully hiding the slight wobble to her legs after sitting in that position for so long, before dismounting himself. “We could hear that monster from a mile away!” Steve chuckled and apologized, flashing his most winning smile. “No problem, Steve, one of the hazards of living in a quiet neighborhood.” Joe stepped forward and slid his hands along the handgrips of the bike as Steve worked the gloves off of his hands to shove down into his pocket. “She’s a beaut!” Joe grinned and waggled his caterpillar eyebrows at Onheil. “The bike and the lady!” Onheil blushed prettily and thanked him with a warm tone as Joe took her hand to kiss her knuckles. She laughed when his wife swatted his shoulder and told him to stop flirting. He shrugged, “It was worth it!”

They were hustled inside out of the chill after that. “So, this must be Caroline?”

Joe nodded, “The one and only!”

His wife pulled Steve in for a hug and kiss. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Captain Rogers—Steve. I—I can’t thank you enough. You’re responsible for my marrying this hooligan.” Steve couldn’t help but think that for two people in their eighties, Joe and Caroline were in excellent shape. You’d never know they were as old as they were.

Steve shook his head, “I was doing what I knew I had to. To be honest, my reasons were pretty self-serving. I just wanted Bucky back.” Caroline and Joe nodded as if in sympathy and understanding. Steve remembered the paper wrapped bottle in his hand. They’d told him to bring nothing under threat of physical harm, but his mother had taught him never to show up to someone’s house as a guest empty handed. Steve hadn’t known what to bring so when Onheil suggested wine and picked out the bottle he was relieved. He held it out to Caroline and she accepted it with a wry look.

Steve jumped slightly at a hissing sound behind him. He turned to see a black cat with white boots poised as if to strike on the staircase along side his shoulder. “Oh hush, you.” Joe stuck his hand through the bars of the railing and waved the cat back. The animal swatted at him and pounced down the stairs to the floor. “That would be Loki.”

Onheil looked from the man to the cat, one brow arched impossibly high. “Loki?”

“Yeah, granddaughter named him.” Joe led them into the living room to have a seat. “She’s big on mythology. Studying it in school. What’s she going for now? Her doctorate?” Caroline nodded. “She certainly knows where she wants to go in life. Asked for her inheritance early to pay for school since she didn’t really qualify for any loans and didn’t want to be in debt. Smart girl.” He sighed as the cat stalked around the room, sniffing at Steve and Onheil’s legs before rubbing against Onheil and purring. She bent down and scratched the cat. Joe raised a brow in surprise. “So she named that beast and from everything she’s told me about the character he’s called after, the name certainly fits.” Onheil chuckled and agreed.

“Onheil’s into mythology too.”

“Really? Well, you should get along with Rowan then. She’ll be here soon. Went to pick up the rest of the brood from the airport. What’s that thing she’s writing about now? Locomotive-something.”

“ _Lokasenna_.”

“That decides is. It’s your job to keep Rowan distracted while the grownups have a real discussion.”

A sly smile crawled over Onheil’s features, “Challenge accepted.”

They talked quietly while they waited for the rest of Joe and Caroline’s family to arrive. Loki found his way into Onheil’s lap and purred like a motor in the background. Soon enough there seemed to be a tornado coming in the front door. “Granddad! I brought the monsters!” The woman Steve assumed was Rowan came swooping into the room. Loki immediately vacated Onheil’s lap to pounce around Rowan’s feet and rub against her legs. All Steve could think about was that woman from the _Harry Potter_ movies. The one who made all those whackadoodle prophesies. Only, more purposeful looking than just absent minded. “Hello there, you must be Captain Rogers.” She stuck her hand out as Steve rose from his seat.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And you must be the girlfriend.”

“Indeed.” Onheil found her hand shaken firmly as Rowan swept through the room toward the kitchen. Caroline rolled her eyes and followed.

Introductions were made all around. The house was full of warmth and laughter and the aroma of a delicious home-cooked meal. Evidently this wasn’t the full extent of Joe’s family, either. If stories and the large family photo over the mantle were to be believed, the two daughters present with their husbands were only a third of the picture. The six siblings were neatly divided between boys and girls. Steve learned that large families were common at the time that Joe and Caroline were young. There was another family who had lived on the cul-de-sac as long as they had made up of ten siblings. Steve thought it was a wonder they survived. It had been so incredibly hard with just he and his mother. They’d needed help from the Barnes’s so often at one point, Steve wondered if his mother had somehow taken a line of credit with them. But she always made it work and paid them back. “Things were different after the war. Growing up, the Depression, that was all devastating. But afterward, things were better. They were tight, for sure, but a hell of a lot better. And the kids all helped out, they weren’t slouches by any means. Boys had paper routes, girls babysat. It was a joint effort. Before the war I’d started as an apprentice with an electrician. When I got home, I finished my apprenticeship and eventually took over the business. We were never too hard up, we were definitely luckier than most.”

Steve listened intently. There just simply weren’t that many people he knew—Joe was probably the only one he knew—who could talk like this, about before and after.

Steve couldn’t help but get a little sad over _what might have been_. His eyes slid across the room to where Onheil and Rowan had their heads bent closely together, something that looked like a book pulled up on a tablet speaking in excited but hushed tones. Who needed what might have been when he had _all that was to come_?

***

Loki was rather enjoying the fact that the cat named for her seemed to dislike everyone else in the room. Even more, she enjoyed the enthusiasm with which Rowan discussed the stories of Loki’s youth. It wasn’t just the stories that the Norsemen handed down; it was mythology in a wide, sweeping scope. But her academic focus, at the moment, did happen to be _Lokasenna_. It surprised and delighted Loki to hear someone speak of her in a positive light. Rowan seemed to view her as a sympathetic character. Someone who served to teach the Aesir lessons they refused to learn on their own. In some ways, she was right. Loki had always had a knack for seeking out the least popular opinions, the most problematic issues. She never had qualms about simply throwing those things in the faces of the Aesir. It wasn’t done with malice, though, _usually_. Rowan seemed to see all of that.

There seemed to be a general feeling of familial bliss. Joe and Caroline and their progeny were warm and inviting. Steve seemed more relaxed than he had in a long time, just sitting and talking with someone who understood where he was coming from, the world he came from, the time and mindset.

At some point, Loki had felt this all for herself. It was immediate and close and she had set her claws into it and refused to let go. Until she had to. Until holding on would have ruined it.

***

Loki sat with his legs spread wide on the rug before the hearth in their chambers flicking his fingers in the same manner Fandral would flick the back of Loki’s ears as he walked by when they were children. The motion set off bright golden sparks that settled onto the kindling and set the slow fire to rolling. The warm tinkling of laughter sounded from behind him. He straightened his back and looked over his shoulder, grin spreading across his face as Sigyn swept into the room.

She was all force and grace. She wasn’t the lofty, unattainable beauty that Freyja or Frigga or Idunn were. She was singular. She was his.

It had been several months since they were married. A lifetime seemed to have passed since the first time she had given him that serious, no-nonsense look of hers and told him that his face would freeze in that ugly grimace if he continued to wear it. He’d first wanted to wring her neck for her insolence. Then he’d wanted to laugh, amused by her boldness. Too bad his lips were still immobile.

At some point, Odin had decided that the dwarves’ demands had been met and that Loki’s lips might be freed of the leather cord that strung them shut. His days had melted together into the constant thrum of the dull pain in his face. Loki didn’t wait for Odin to decide whether or not it would be a grand and ultimately shameful public even in which he was granted his freedom. He sat in the quiet of Frigga’s private gardens beneath the tall ash tree he had favored since youth and _ripped the leather out_. He didn’t realize he was screaming until she was there with her bright, round face and her unruly honey colored curls. “My Prince.” Her voice was firm as she knelt beside him. He knew nothing but the metallic tang of blood on his tongue, the scent filling his nose and making his head swim. He looked at her as he shook, ran his tongue over his ruined lips.

“Sigyn.”

She gently pulled the cord from his fingers, bloodless with the effort of gripping it, and sat with him until night fell.

She wasn’t elegant in the same way the other ladies of the Aesir court were. She wore billowing, heavy gowns of wool or cotton; vests of hide and fur; soft slippers that let her move soundlessly through the corridors of the palace. She smelled of freshly turned earth and that lovely sharpness of rain.

She was his Sig.

And now she was kneeling down and draping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. “And have you decided what you will call your son?” Loki huffed good-naturedly and asked her how she knew the child was a son when it was hardly noticeable that she was even pregnant. That part worried him. He’d spent his life watching the women at court and in the staff grow heavy and give birth to robust children. Sigyn just looked like she needed to quit sneaking tidbits from the kitchens. Her favoring of loose-fitting robes did not help. “My Lopt, my air, you are a stubborn, silly man. These things I know. And I know that this is a son.”

Loki knew that Sigyn was worried. Why else would she have told no one about the pregnancy? The midwife that visited her at odd hours was stony and silent and discrete.

“Egil.” Loki sucked in breath, fortifying himself as he stared into the flame. “He will be called Egil Lokason.”

“And will you teach Egil Lokason magic?” Loki twisted in her arms and considered her seriously. He nodded. She grinned.

“And you will teach him how to lure in a doe.”

“I do not _lure_ them. They simply come to me.”

“Sorceress.”

“Hush, you.” She laughed as he moved to pin her to the floor, hovering over her body on his hands and knees while he very unabashedly kissed her. He moved down to untie the sash at her waist and slip her fur-lined vest open. He laid his cheek along her stomach and played with the gold torque on her wrist as she played with his hair. “What are you murmuring down there?”

“I am teaching Egil magic.”

“I don’t think that he will remember much you teach him now.”

“Of course he will. He is my son, son of Asgard’s Scholar Prince. He will remember.” He paused, looking up at Sigyn’s inviting, open face. “He will be more powerful than I and I will relish in his glory.”

“Ah yes, because you are the most powerful of magicians. Just think how wondrous you would be if Frigga had begun your education in the womb?”

Loki moved back up, catching her chin in his hand, “That _mouth_.” He leaned down to kiss her. “That mouth is going to get you into _such_ trouble.”

Weeks later, their bliss teetered on the edge of the abyss. Fate had different ideas for Egil than Loki did.

“Sig. Sig. _Sigyn_.” She had been making the most disturbing keening sounds as she slept fitfully. She had been complaining of feeling ill all day and had confined herself to their chambers. Her eyes fluttered open and she grimaced, curled in on herself as Loki curled his body around hers. “What is wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He lay with her a moment, fingers twined together as she shook.

“I am going to fetch a healer.”

“No, Loki.”

“I do not care. You are ill.” Sigyn screeched in horror when Loki threw the bed coverings back to reveal her thighs and the white cotton of her nightdress slicked with blood.

When it was over and the room was filled with heavy, eerie silence the midwife pulled Loki aside, the unmoving bundle in her arms like a magnet drawing his eyes. He felt sick as he held his small, ill-formed son in his arms. Egil was tiny, skin and lips tinged blue like someone who had been left out in the cold, his scull with its wisps of hair ridged oddly.

In hindsight, it should have made Loki think twice.

“Lopt.” Sigyn’s voice came forth in a soft croak. She was settled back into bed, fresh sheets and blankets and furs engulfing her and making her look as small and frail as their child. He set his features into the mask he wore all too often before their marriage.

“No, Sig. Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I want my son. _Give him to me_.” So he placed the child in her arms. She stared down at him, her features contorted with love and anger. Her body shook with silent sobs.

After several long moments she held the bundle back out to Loki. The midwife hovered in the shadows of the antechamber. Loki placed Egil back into her arms.

“My lord.” Sigyn’s handmaid slipped by, her arms laden with soiled bedding. He caught her by the arm and drew her to him.

“Burn them.”

“Yes my lord.”

“And if any of this leaves this room, I will have your tongue out of your head so fast you will not know what happened.”

“Y-yes. Yes, my lord.” She hurried to do her duty.

“And the child?”

“Burn _it_.” The woman hesitated a moment, looking over Loki’s shoulder to Sigyn. Loki glanced in her direction, catching her stone-faced nod in his peripheral vision.

Loki crawled into bed beside his wife and she melted into him, his chest becoming warm and wet with her renewed tears. “Perhaps you should have started teaching him sooner.”

“Perhaps I should have.”

He did not question the determined set to her face as she stroked her stomach when she finally became pregnant again. “We will call him Narfi, my air.”

***

“So,” Rowan looked up at Loki.

“So.”

She tucked an unruly honey colored curl behind her ear and slipped her glasses off her nose. “You and Captain Rogers.”

“Yes. Captain Rogers and I.”

“Sounds like it’s serious between the two of you.”

Loki smiled. “Yes, I believe it is.”

Rowan looked up at Loki through her thick lashes with her open, inviting face. “Too bad.” Loki felt her cheeks flush with heat.

***

Steve slipped his arm around Onheil when she came to sit beside him while Caroline poured fingers of amaretto for those who could have after-dinner drinks.

“What’s it like?” Joe’s grandson studied Steve thoughtfully as he accepted a glass from his grandmother.

“What’s what like?”

“Being…” He frowned, ruminating over words.

“Being Captain America?”

“No. Being…out of time.”

Steve nodded in understanding. Onheil pressed her fingertips into his knee with reassuring pressure. “To be honest, I don’t know how to describe it. I…It…It am just _weird_ , I guess. Like, I know I’m an old man. I’ll be 96 this year if you count all of the time between when I put the plane in the water and when they recovered me. But even with all of the catching up I’ve had to do—all the studying up on history and figuring out how to socialize all over again—you young people rely far too much on your blogs and Instagrams, by the way—knowing that most of the people who were young when I was young are collecting pensions or…you know…I don’t _feel_ like I should be turning 96. I feel like I did sitting in the cockpit of the plane. I feel like a college-age kid. It’s just… _weird_.”

“Any word on that, Steve? Speaking of being college-aged?”

Steve grinned and nodded, “I’m starting in the fall.”

The furious ringing of Steve’s SHIELD phone disrupted the ease of the evening. Onheil gave him a concerned look. He shook his head and excused himself. “What’s up, Phil?”

“Is Ferguson with you?”

“Of course. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, her phone was pinging back at Barton’s address, but when we picked him up she wasn’t there.”

“Picked him up? What’s going on?”

“Army found a glitch. They’ve got some kind of leak. Maybe a mole. Not sure yet. But Rumlow’s people know we’re coming. Pretty sure they don’t know the whole scheme, it was pretty fragmented stuff that came up red flagged, but they know something. We’re losing the element of surprise.”

“Okay, so what does Fury want? A revision? Is that why you’re calling?”

“No, we’re leaving now. Right now. I’m sending you coordinates for an extraction point. I need you and Ferguson there within the hour.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Okay. Roger that.”

“Over and out, Captain.”

Onheil was standing in the doorway, concern painted over her features. Joe hovered close behind. Steve ran a hand through his hair and forced a smile. “Sorry about that, looks like I’m getting deployed.”

“How can they do that? You can’t possibly be active duty.”

“No, no, not at all. Still government property, though. They pull me in for special operations from time to time. You know, the whole alien invasion of New York City thing…some other more clandestine stuff.”

He gave Onheil a serious look, trying to convey the urgency of the situation without saying it outright. She smiled brightly. “Surely they cannot be deploying you right this instant, Captain darling?”

A smile spread across Joe’s face, ‘She’s the _just a friend_ that was texting you the day we met!”

Steve laughed remembering the older man reading the messages over his shoulder in the middle of that mess. “Yeah, she is.” He slid the phone back into his pocket and moved back into the living room to say his goodbyes. “Unfortunately, she’s right though. They are deploying me right this instant. I really hate to run like this, but we have get moving.”

“Totally understood.” Joe put his hand out to shake and pulled Steve into a one armed hug. “Be safe out there.”

“I will. Gotta come home to my best girl.”

***

The information they’d given him was fragmented at best and with the sudden whirlwind of activity he was fairly sure it was completely incorrect at worst. The metal tray in front of him was yanked away just as he’d been about to lift the first forkful of whatever the hell it was to his mouth. He’d been out for long enough that he was actually feeling hunger. He kept every movement slow and deliberate, always expecting to be forced into the chair.

“We’re moving out. _Now_.”

His gear was thrown unceremoniously on the table in front of him.

He was the asset.

The bullet in the chamber.

The unsheathed blade.

And she was his mission.

_Molniya._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone jumps on me for inaccuracy, the scene between Loki and Sigyn is from my own head. I'm not really drawing any inspiration for her character or their relationship or anything that happens between them from Marvel or mythology aside from the fact that she exists.
> 
> So there's that. I hope even with how sad it wound up being, that those who expressed interest in seeing her more in the story are pleased.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. 
> 
> PS: Fun Fact, this reached 430 kudos on 4/30. I love when things like that happen.


	67. Suit Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team travels overseas.
> 
>  **SPOILER WARNING:** Not really, to be honest. Just some internal dialogue for the Winter Solider at the very end of the chapter. If you don't want to read it then stop after Steve's last statement.

Steve can’t focus on anything but the ringing in his ears and the searing pain in his back. Slowly, like swimming up through pudding, the world begins to come back. The ringing recedes into the background of the muffled noises of battle. Gunshots. Shouting. Scuffling. Somewhere along the line his shield is wrenched off his arm. There is a heavy weight on top of him. Something solid and warm. His legs are folded awkwardly beneath the bulk of his body. His face is pressed into the dry, flaky clay of the ground.

As bullets ring against the vibranium shell he realizes is covering his six, Steve realizes that the amorphous shape coming into focus pressed against his cheek is actually a boot. The weight on top of him must be a person.

His fingers inch though the dust to grip the laces.

_Why can’t I move?_

Barton was screaming in his ear. All he wanted to do was rip the comm out. And then Barton wasn’t there anymore.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, Cap! Don’t worry. We’re gonna get you out.”

“Hooah,” he choked out.

***

“Sorry about that.” Coulson was all business with his folded arms and perfectly pressed suit, every bit the image of the secret agent, every bit hiding the skill the man actually had. Steve had never seen him in action but he’d heard rumors. He seemed like a completely different man in this space where he was in charge and running the show and had this entire motley group under his protection and guidance.

Not for the first time, Steve thought that Coulson would make a pretty damned good director if Fury ever stepped down.

“Not a problem, Phil.” Steve waited for Onheil to slip off the back of the bike before getting off himself and flipping down the kickstand. “I was thinking about heading out soon anyway.” He forced a smile. He really would rather have been back in that living room with that awful cat eyeing him like he was going to eat his face than be on this aircraft. But duty was duty.

Onheil eyed the other vehicles parked in the bay and raised a brow at the cheery red convertible. “Is this Lola?”

“That’s my girl.” She put a hand out and froze as Coulson barked out, “Don’t touch Lola.”

She glared at him and closed her fist for a moment, hand still hovering. She extended a finger. “Onheil, don’t do it. You’ll make him angry. You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

Her finger hovered closer; she grinned and planted it against the shiny surface before erupting into giggles. “You’ll be punished later, Ferguson.” Coulson broke out into a grin himself. He seemed as completely unable to resist Onheil’s charm as Steve was. “C’mon. We’re briefing in the living room. Everyone else is on board already.”

***

Loki watched the physical change in Steve that made him the Captain as she followed behind him with Coulson leading the way. His head tilted up, chin out. Back straight. Shoulders square. Stride purposeful. She half expected some patriotic music to begin playing somewhere off in the distance.

And there was everyone.

Her team.

Congregated in the living space of the expansive aircraft like a war council awaiting the king’s orders.

Thrill rain up her spine in a shiver.

She stepped closer to Steve and he moved away, settling with his feet apart and arms resting behind his back.

“Since we’ve got everybody now, we’ll start. Looks like there’s an intel leak on the Army’s end. The things that came up compromised mostly just related to Captain Rogers joining a team above ground to clear the village.” Steve nodded, stony and silent. “The only other information that seemed to be of any interest to whomever was siphoning it off was that Agent Ferguson would be there. We’ve had them put out a few fake transmissions detailing the two of you working a special ops mission with their tac team. Hopefully, they don’t know all of what we do. But that’s why we’ve elected to move in now. They narrowed down our possible flight times, so we thought it would be best to get the jump on them—try to catch them off guard like a pair of in-laws showing up early for the holiday.”

Loki barely listened to much after that. She didn’t like the way Ward was eyeing her. She didn’t like the way his eyes gleamed as Coulson spoke about compromised information.

Natasha was watching him as well. At least the knowledge that the spider didn’t trust him seemed to justify the boiling feeling in Loki’s stomach that screamed treachery.

“We’ll be there by nightfall. We’ll land someplace out of the way and then catch a convoy into the base. Hill and I will stay with the Bus to oversee things and give directions. Barton’ll be the link in the field, keep both teams updated and cover the surface.” The Hawk nodded.

As they neared their destination, conversation grew quiet. Those who were not already suited up, appearing to have been picked up from their homes or someplace else outside of SHIELD like Loki and Steve had, went to do so.

“Where’s my suit?”

Coulson shook his head. “You’re going in standard issue gear. Just because they know you’re coming doesn’t mean we need to make you completely easy to spot. It’ll throw them off a little; make them doubt the intel entirely. You’re free to carry the shield of course, we’ve taken the liberty of giving it a bit of a stealth update.”

Steve looked mortified when Hill produced the newly painted shield that matched what Loki presumed to be the colors of standard issue gear. The Captain’s calm took back over and he just nodded, taking the shield and stalking away from the living room.

She couldn’t think about his problems right at that moment. It was just a shield. It was just paint. When they got back to New York, he could personally strip it off and replace the usual motif. She didn’t understand why he was so irked. “Your suit is in here. Let one of us know if you need help. I still don’t know why you wanted armor.” Coulson shook his head and left Loki alone in what looked like sleeping quarters. Her suit was laid out on a bed, armor arranged beside it.

The rush in her blood and the excited patter of her heart erased anything else as she stripped off her clothing.

The under-suit that would keep her body temperature regulated—or, at least would keep mortal, Midgardian Onheil’s regulated—slipped on like a second skin. She luxuriated in the feel of it as she took her time to zip the front and adjust the openings around her digits that made the sleeve end as fingerless gloves. She couldn’t help the satisfied smile on her face as she slipped into the Kevlar cat suit and made careful work of the closures. The patter in her chest turned to a heavy thud as pre-battle adrenaline began to take hold as she slipped her feet back into her boots and fastened the black metal greaves in place over them. Pauldrons came next, sliding and buckling into place across her chest and back. The gorget fit into place like a puzzle place between the close-fitted, curved plates over her shoulders. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she’d finished fastening the vambraces. A wave of her hand and the soft glow of green energy had her hair organized into something tidy that couldn’t be snatched and pulled. She stood staring back at herself in the mirror for a moment. Oh yes, this was where she was meant to be. For now, at least.

***

Steve tied his laces tightly. Checked his belt. Checks his pockets. Checked his holsters. He wasn’t going to put the body armor on until they hit the ground. He’d finished getting dressed with the tac team he’d be rolling with. He thought that process of putting on gear, checking fastenings, psyching each other up was important—it served as an equalizer and bound the team together. He traced his fingers over the embroidered _S. ROGERS_ on his chest, the flag on his right shoulder, the _US ARMY_ nametape, his rank insignia. He smoothed out the Velcro reinforcement over his zippers.

It felt odd. It felt silly. The uniform—the Captain America uniform—was such a part of him, such a part of his service that he felt out of place in the standard Army Combat Uniform. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was afraid. The suit had become like a security blanket even with as much as he’d grown to resent it and having to play the part.

He’d have to soldier on.

This was important.

He could repaint his shield when he got home. Didn’t he do that after every battle anyway? Repair or cover chips and nicks and gouges from bullets and shrapnel and whatever else came up against the vibration-absorbing shell?

He had to soldier on to ensure the safety of the team heading underground—Natasha, May, Ward, Onheil. They were depending on him to provide a distraction, to draw fire, to cover their six.

Steve walked back to the living room to spend the last hours of the flight with the rest of the team, to go over code and signals with Hawkeye one last time. Barton would be using a sniper rifle on this op; arrows just seemed to not make much logistical sense. He almost seemed sad about it.

Melinda was nodding, listening intently to whatever was being said by the woman on the couch across from her. Natasha’s face was neutral aside from her pursed lips. Her fingers stroked the outer edge of the electrical cartridges at her wrist absentmindedly. Or maybe purposefully. Things were usually very purposeful with Natasha. Ward reclined against the couch, legs spread in a show of peacocking. Steve had to resist rolling his eyes.

Natasha caught his eye and the other person sitting with them turned to look in the direction of her gaze. “Oh, Captain, my Captain.” Onheil’s voice was low and throaty, like the tone people in movies used in the bedroom. Maybe that had contributed to Ward’s demeanor. Steve had never really interacted with the man, but the more he observed him the more Steve was glad he didn’t. And the more he just wanted Ward to stay the hell away from Onheil. He looked like trouble in more ways than one.

Steve’s breath hitched a little at the sight of Onheil as she slinked toward him. She looked like something out of one of those online fantasy games. What was that one his friends from the sculpting class talked about? Warcraft-something-or-other. Her hair was close against her skull, the mass of it separated into three tightly woven braids that coiled together at the back of her head. If you didn’t know they were there, someone probably wouldn’t notice the knives tucked into the outer edge of either boot. She had a holster strapped to her thigh but somehow he doubted she’d ever use the firearm it held.

“You look…different.”

“As do you.” She approached and ran her fingers over his turned up collar, traced the letters of his name. “And might I say, this is a very attractive different. I think you should keep this uniform.”

Steve very purposefully removed her hand, furrowing his brow in displeasure. “Onheil, don’t be disrespectful.”

“She’s just pointing out the obvious, Spangles.” Tony appeared with drink in hand. Steve disapproved of it, especially so close to having to be on the ground—or in the air in Stark’s case—but he kept his mouth shut. Tony had seemed exceptionally upset since the last time Steve had been at Stark Tower. He was sure it had something to do with him. Perhaps Pepper had scolded him after Steve had left, but surely that wouldn’t have bothered Tony that much when he gave Pepper reasons to scold him at least four times daily. “And don’t most chicks have a thing for men in uniform?” He plopped down on the couch, mirroring Ward’s pose dramatically. Rare mirth sparkled in Natasha’s eyes at the display. “Just take the compliment, Cap.” He regarded Onheil for a moment. “No green? No gold?”

Onheil cast a cool glare at him and turned her chin up. “That would hardly be considered _stealth_ , now would it, Stark?” The precarious friendship between the two of them had been strained at best since the newspaper debacle, but Steve had thought they’d cooled off. Certainly whatever issue remained had been resolved if Onheil had wanted Tony on the mission? Why did everyone seem to have a problem with her lately? Everyone except Barton, at least.

Melinda raised a brow and said nothing. Ward smirked. Natasha resumed her pursed-lipped silence.

Onheil rolled her eyes and took Steve’s hand, leading him away from the group assembled in the living room. When they were out of earshot she pressed him to the wall and placed her forehead against his. “We never got to do our something fun.”

“I know, Lovebug.”

“I’m anxious.” Her hands ran up over his uniformed chest. His placed his on her hips.

“Why?”

“I just want to be on the ground. I want to do this. I want them to see I can do this. They don’t believe me.”

“They don’t believe you can run the mission?”

“I’ve no idea.” She pressed her lips to his before running them over his jaw and up behind his ear, leaving his skin feeling slick.

“Onheil—“

“I mean they think I am lying. When I tell them I am not using you. They all think that I am using you. I am not.”

“Onheil—“

“I wouldn’t use you. I couldn’t.” She kissed him with startling force, practically snarling into it, pulling away with his lip between her teeth. “I love you too much.” Her pupils were blown wide, the emerald of her irises a tight ring around the edge.

“Onheil,” his heart was hammering in his chest. Holy moley, she was attractive like this. Her expression desperate and needy and sincere. Her fingers gripping the front of his jacket. Looking like some warrior princess. The heaving of her chest accentuated by the soft glint of the light off of her armored chest piece and shoulders. “I love you too. But not now. Not here. We need to get serious.”

“I am serious.”

“And so am I. Not now.” Her grip tightened for a moment and she frowned. When he hardened his expression she dropped her hands and backed away, pressing herself to the opposite wall. “When we’re home. When we’re safe. We need to be focused right now.”

She didn’t speak to him the rest of the flight. She occupied herself with her team, all sleek in their black-on-black cat suits and tactical gear. Aside from the agents he knew by name there were three others he’d never been introduced to. Onheil was animated in her interaction with them. Even though it seemed to have taken her ages to allow Steve to bring her into his world kicking and screaming, beginning with meeting Tony at the shwarma place that day last summer, her ease and charisma with everyone was undeniable.

As they neared their landing point everyone began to check into their respective comm frequencies, either tapping a finger to the bluetooth device in their ear or whispering into their wrist. Clint was tucking the curly cord of his earpiece down into the collar of his vest when Onheil spoke. “Nidhogg live. Channel two.” She spoke softly into the inside of her wrist. An eerie sort of calm had settled over her. She practically radiated energy. Steve was sure everyone else in the room could feel it. He was surprised that it wasn’t interfering with the electronics. Perhaps it was a matter of control.

“Nidhogg clear for channel two.” The statement rolled easily off Clint’s tongue and then he paused, turning an accusatory look at Onheil. “ _Nidhogg_? What the hell is that?”

“A legendary beast that lives amongst the roots of the World Tree.”

“You couldn’t have possibly picked something less obscure?” He shook his head as he continued to check the rest of the team into their channels, saving Steve for last. “Tauriel.” He narrowed his eyes at Onheil, ruminating over the thought. “No. That’s not you.” He was quiet for a moment.

“Captain America live. Channel three.”

“Captain America clear for channel three. _Ygritte._ You’re Ygritte.” He grinned toothily at Onheil. “Wildling.” She rolled her eyes at him jokingly.

“Barton, call me whatever the hell you want. Just keep me informed.”

“Personally,” Tony’s metal boots clanged against the floor, “I think Miss Mischief’s name already sounds like a code name.” His faceplate slid into place as he walked. “Already patched in, Hawk. JARVIS is taking care of everything.” Metal rang against metal as he saluted in an exaggerated fashion. “How did I get talked into coming back to Afghanistan again?” He shook his head. Coulson’s voice came online instructing them all to go down to the hatch to load onto the waiting Army jeeps.

“You know, you didn’t have to suit up until we were ready to roll.”

“Capsicle, I’ve been in this thing since we entered their airspace. It’s either Iron Man or Panic Attack Man. Take your pick.” Steve glanced away, slightly ashamed of himself. He clapped Tony’s metal shoulder as he moved past him. He knew that feeling all too well.

They unloaded once inside the base, confirming with Coulson and Hill back on the Bus that they’d arrived without incident. The commanding officer approached Steve, hand extended, “Captain Rogers, it’s an honor.” Steve shook his hand and smiled saying that the honor was all his. He was directed to a tent that was housing the tac team he’d be working with. On the way the officer explained that the base had gone completely off-grid and was on lockdown. “Since we detected the leak, we didn’t want to further endanger anyone or your operation.”

“It’s not my operation, sir. It’s Agent Ferguson’s. I’m just along for the ride.” The officer nodded and continued.

“We’re conducting an internal investigation. We’ll keep SHIELD abreast of what we find.” He swept aside the netting covering the doorway of the tent that allowed the air to circulate in the stagnant heat of midday. “Attention!”

The tac team snapped upright and straight, a chorus of “Sir!” and salutes greeting Steve and the officer. The man introduced Steve to the team, though he’d met them over the video link at SHIELD once before, and left.

“Please, at ease. No need for formality. I’m just another doughboy.” The woman who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group grinned at him and stuck out her hand.

“Sorry, Captain Am—Captain Rogers.”

“Steve, please.” He shook the offered hand.

“Steve.” She gestured to the group of men around her. “Hard to believe you’re just one of the guys. You’re a living legend.”

Steve shrugged. “I didn’t do anything anyone else wouldn’t have if given the opportunity.”

“Not gonna lie, Ca—Steve—we’re all a little disappointed you’re not in your usual ensemble. Can’t imagine the look on my son’s face if I sent him that selfie.”

A few hours and a couple miles later, Hawkeye was at his side and Stark was in the air. Onheil and her team had taken off in another helicopter to get to their own drop point at the other end of the mock-village. “We’ll start clearing the houses. Hawk, you can find a nest—“

“Really, Cap? This early into the op and we’re already cracking bird jokes?”

Steve chuckled, the action releasing some of the tension in his chest. “You can find a _vantage point_ you like. How’s it look from up there, Tony?”

“Not good, actually. There are too many heat signatures for this to be a ghost town. I’m thinking this is gonna be an ambush, mon Capitaine.”

“We’ll just have to give ‘em hell, then.”

***

It had been a mad dash to get to the base. He didn’t care too much about the frantic mood around him. It had nothing to do with him. They had nothing to do with his objectives.

When he hopped out of the back of the Jeep, he went to select the best vantage point from which to view the narrow streets and alleys below. There was more to this city in shambles than met the eye. If he could take out the target before they caught on—if that wasn’t the objective already—and moved down into the complex below ground. It would make his task simpler to take down the target out here in the open.

He watched patiently as the group of soldiers slipped around corners and into doorways. None of them matched her build. Perhaps there were more of them elsewhere.

There was the man with the shield. His face was obscured by the helmet he wore, the shield seemed to have been given a makeover. But there was no doubt it was the man from the photographs.

He would deal with that later.

He slipped down from the roof, through the building, ignoring the frightened family huddled into the corner in the single bedroom. He ditched his firearm with one of the underlings that had been sent along with him and slid down into the basement of the house next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ermahgerd. What happened?
> 
> A little flash-forwardy anticipation for you a la the Prayer Circle for Clint's Foot. Better start one for Steve.
> 
> Some fluffy stuff, super short. I just haven't been motivated lately, but I couldn't leave you guys hanging while I wallowed in writer's block. I'm sorry for how rough this was as a result.
> 
> Just to forewarn, we will definitely be seeing the Winter Soldier in action in the next chapter.
> 
> Shout-out to **Hadeel** for the sleeves with finger-holes on Onheil's suit. Check out her fan art on Onheil's blog. Check out all of her art. She's amazing.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	68. Not an Ordinary Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange man causes trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **NOTE:** Direct interaction with the Winter Soldier ahead. No avoiding it. At this point, it is essential to the plot.

Loki resigned herself to sitting with the team she’d lead underground. Running over strategy again and again until it numbed her brain and dulled the rush of adrenaline that had been fueling her and lighting her fire in a way that she had not felt for such a long time.

She couldn’t stay away.

“Steve.” They were waiting to disembark. His eyes slid toward her, body tensed like he was waiting to be attacked. She softened. “Captain darling.” He discreetly hooked his pinky around hers as they stood beside each other. “I am sorry. I should not have been so forward, it was inappropriate.”

“It’s okay. I get it.” His shapely lips turned up on one side. The expression looked odd matched with his soldier’s clothing.

Loki didn’t care what anyone else said or what was proper or improper. She leaned her forehead into his. “Please be safe.” He surprised her when he gave her a soft, chaste kiss. Someone cleared their throat behind them. “You’re mine. You’re not allowed to go and get yourself hurt or killed or captured. It’s against the rules.”

Steve chuckled. “I could say the same to you, Lovebug. If Rumlow or Lukin—“

She shook her head. “There’s no indication that either of them is here. And if they are then they won’t be making it out alive—I really don’t care what SHIELD’s objectives are on that matter.”

“Onheil’s a BAMF and Steve’s goo-goo-eyed over her. We get it. Can we move on now?” Loki cast a cold glance over her shoulder at Ward. She suddenly couldn’t remember what had possessed her to choose him.

They parted ways at the army base. Steve was whisked away to get into combat gear. He’d explained to her that it included something called a flack jacket to protect his upper body and a helmet. “If you’re so damned worried about the Super Solider getting shot full of holes, then why exactly did you decide to stick him out in the open with the object of getting shot at?” May had glanced at Ward with a look that said everything and nothing. He quieted for the rest of the bumpy ride in the Jeep toward the drop point.

About a mile out from the mock-up village, a cave formation jutted out of the slope of a hillside. Loki and her team slipped inside silently. She took point, creeping carefully and quietly in the dim light filtering in from the mouth of the cave. The air was cool against her face in the darkness. When Natasha stepped up beside her brandishing a small flashlight, she held the woman back. With a flick of her wrist, the passage was illuminated briefly with enough green-gold light to detect the single guard poised to strike on the far side of the room. Natasha raised her gun and fired. There was a rustle of clothing against the ground as the person fell.

“Excellent precision, Agent Romanov.” Loki smirked as she toed the man’s shoulder and turned him enough to reveal the dark stain between his eyes. They dropped down into the circular opening in the ground silently, lights flickering to life as they moved past on the rungs of the ladder.

They moved to begin clearing rooms. The facility was a strange mix of outdated technology, duct tape repairs, and outrageous looking scientific equipment. “It’s too quiet.”

“Agreed.”

“Barton, what does it look like on the surface?”

“Well, my mythologicaly-beastly friend, it looks like the party is coming to us. Stark’s getting some pretty damned odd heat-signatures in the houses. Waiting on your darling Captain to report in.” There was the sound of Clint’s sniper rifle discharging, muffled by the silencer.

“Ferguson.” May’s voice was firm in her ear, reminding her not to be distracted by whatever was going on above them. Natasha and Melinda moved off to secure what appeared to be an information hub. The others went to search for weaponry. Ward remained close to the entrance point to ensure no one could sneak down the hole and take them by surprise.

Loki moved toward the room at the far end of the corridor that all the others branched out from. If the schematics that Steve had given her were correct, it should have been the command center for this base.

She wasn’t disappointed. One entire wall was made up of computer or television monitors with views of the topside and each room to some extent. There were file cabinets and bookcases crammed with information. She could see the interior of several of what she assumed were deemed the more important structures above. “Oh Hawkeye, dear?”

“Yes, my precious?”

“I think I know what those odd heat signatures are.”

“And are you going to share with the class?” Two shots sounded on his end.

“Looks to me like whomever is working down here is living up there.” She gave him a brief description of the family-inhabited rooms she was seeing—and the people either clustered in corners or looking like they were ready to charge.

“Alrighty then, sounds like we need a change of tactic up here.”

She took the memory stick from the pocket at her hip and plugged it into what appeared to be the main computer component and began tapping in the coding on the keyboard that Romanov had suggested may grant them access to the servers. She closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of whirring tech and ventilation fans and the relative silence of the corridor.

When the sound of a solid boot touching the floor reached her ears, she knew it couldn’t be any of her team.

***

He tried to move quickly through the vent system. The longer he spent navigating the tight space, the longer Molniya had to complete her objectives and move on. That was not an option.

He’d been out of stasis for some time. Far longer than he ever could fathom having been—not that he remembered specifics. There were vague ghosts of memories and recollections that tried desperately to come through in the moments that he was alone and it was quiet. Moments that he didn’t have anyone barking orders at him or talking at him or babbling about how reckless and careless he was with their tech or how much time he made them waste giving him tune-ups and repairs after a mission. Moments like right then as he found a large enough vent for his body to fit through and dropped silently to the floor.

There was movement. He’d been told that all of the relevant personnel would have been evacuated or taking up defensive positions on the surface. Clearly, Molniya and the man with the shield had arrived with far larger of a team than they had expected. No matter. Whomever else was here, with the exception of perhaps that man who had played the part of Molniya’s husband—if he was here, if he could be found—was of no consequence.

Lightening could not be allowed to strike.

He slipped along the corridor, not really bothering to clear any of the rooms. If the target were here, she would be in the command center. That made the most sense. Why waste time with anything else?

It was almost too easy. He could see her through the narrow window in the door. She was leaning forward with her hands braced against the main console. She seemed entirely focused on the play of images on the bank of screens in front of her.

It didn’t seem right.

The woman they described in the dossier wouldn’t let herself be that exposed. She was too smart for that. Too wiley. Too much a step ahead.

He opened the door and slipped inside, letting it stop against his foot to avoid the sound of the latch clicking into place again. Her head tilted up. She didn’t go rigid with fear. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t gasp. She didn’t grip the edge of the console more tightly.

She turned around to face him. Her eyes swept over him, taking in every inch.

She smiled. Her eyes glittered with… _mischief?_

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that people were normally afraid when they came face to face with him, if they ever got that chance. But she wasn’t.

He leveled his gun at her forehead, silencer adding extra inches to close the space, and pulled the trigger.

He expected her to try to get away. He expected her to fall. He expected the back of her skull to explode and the soft grey mush inside of it to be sprayed against the console and the screens.

Nothing he expected happened.

As the bullet hurtled through the center of her forehead, she exploded in a shower of green and gold sparks. The slug embedded itself in the screen level with where her head once was. He spun around at the sound of metal clinking against metal and was met with a solid fist to his jaw that made him see stars.

***

The man who came to kill her seemed slightly stunned by the cold clock she threw at the side of his head. Slightly stunned. But not knocked out as she’d intended. The lights from the console and the servers and fluorescent bulbs overhead created a dance of fireflies over the silver surface of his left arm as he stumbled. At least she thought it might be his arm. It seemed too closely matched to what she imagined the presumably flesh and blood of the right to be a shell like Stark’s suit.

Loki attacked again before he could set himself right, pushing forward to pin him against the console. “I don’t plan on dying.” The grappled against each other, fighting for control of the gun. His eyes seemed to search her face, to consume every inch of her form, looking for an opening or a weakness. Without much warning, he yanked his leg up between their bodies and planted a foot against her gut. He pushed with what seemed like all of his strength, sending Loki flying into the bank of filing cabinets along the wall. The metal screeched against itself and against her armor as it bent around her body. Papers fluttered around her as they flew out of the drawers forced open by the impact.

“You’re not an ordinary man, are you?”

He responded by leveling the gun at her again and firing. She easily deflected the shots. The bullets bounced away from her body and skittered across the floor with a flattened end. She thought she detected the slightest hint of annoyance in the man’s eyes, the emotion flashing quickly and disappearing.

He lunged for her and she disappeared, leaving him to fight for balance briefly rather than fall face first into the void left by her body. “Behind you, darling.”

She laughed when he whipped his body around. Delighted in the exchange of blows. Felt alive with the blunt pain of his shin against her side or his fist buried in her gut. She grabbed a hold of a hank of his hair and pulled his body around to smash his face against the console. He coughed and sputtered behind the mask around his lower face for a moment after she released him before ripping it away.

“Look at you. And here I thought that muzzle was to hide some awful disfigurement.”

Loki laughed as he made to grab her and his hands went through the duplicate. He breathed out in a huff, blood forming a bubble and popping at his nose, and whipped himself around toward the sound she made, driving her body against the wall and knocking the air from her lungs. She fought for breath for a moment; slightly unnerved by the unwavering glare he had settled on her.

“Trying to burn a hole in my head with your eyes now?”

He pulled her body away from the wall and slammed it back once again, making the back of her head crack against the concrete sharply. “Ow.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, collecting herself. “That hurt.” The scrape of metal on metal made her open them again. That silver hand was wrapped around her throat, the other had made its way to her head, fingers looped tightly into her braids to hold her in place. Her face was growing hot with the collection of blood forming there, unable to escape down the veins in the throat. Her heart was thudding loudly in her ears. The collar of the gorget that was intended to protect her was crunching under the force of that unforgiving hand, cutting off her air supply. She fought to focus, unable to pull her energy together, panicking. How could this man, this presumably mortal man get the better of her? How did SHIELD not anticipate this character? Was he even human?

So instead of collecting herself, she let go. She stopped clawing and kicking, letting her body fall limp.

Loki’s skin flushed with blue. She sucked in what air she could in a ragged breath, forcing her lungs to fill and locking her eyes onto his. She thought they should be cold and dead and relentless for all his brutality. But they weren’t.

They were like Barton’s when she pressed the end of the scepter to his chest.

Like there was something else fighting to come to the surface.

Whatever it was—it wasn’t her problem.

“Ferguson! Ferguson! What the hell is going on?” May was shouting in her ear, distracting her.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Her voice came out in a rasp as she grabbed a hold of the man’s face, the only exposed skin she could see. His flesh began to sizzle and blacken. His grip tightened for a moment before he let out a bellow and let go of her throat and head. Once released, she withdrew her hands and brought her knee up between them, forcing his body away. She snapped her foot out and he went head over ass across the console and onto the floor.

“Ferguson!”

“May, get everyone out. Now.” She wrenched the gorget off of her neck and tossed it to the side. “We’ve been compromised.” She grabbed the memory stick and shoved it back down into her pocket. They would have to be satisfied with whatever she’d managed to get.

Silence answered her. Silence and the heavy breathing of the man crumpled on the other side of the console.

“Who are you?” She asked, knowing she wouldn’t receive an answer. He was getting to his feet, rolling his shoulders. His nostrils flared with every breath, his jaw clenched tightly. The imprints of her palms and fingers stood out in stark contrast to his skin. When he looked at her this time it was with barely contained rage.

Loki ducked as the knife came hurtling toward her. He seemed to have given up on the firearm. He used the moment of distraction to vault back over the console toward her and plant his feet against her chest. She leaned back with the force of it, using his weight to make him land awkwardly and give her time to reach for the blade.

“May! May! Is everyone out?” She danced out of the way as he swiped at her feet.

“Ferguson.” Natasha’s even tone came over the line. “They’re dead. May and I are heading for the exit. Do you need backup?”

“What do you mean they’re dead?” He was on his feet, blade in hand, striking fast and hard as she deflected blows physically and magically. His style was too much like her own. He wasn’t forward and headstrong and telegraphing the way Thor or Stark or even Steve were. He was slippery. He forced his body into whatever space was available and made it work.

“They’re dead. Whatever company you have there—maybe someone else was here that we missed—they’re dead. Get yourself above ground and get your ass to the extraction point.”

Loki disappeared. She found herself again out in the corridor. She couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it. It couldn’t be true. They’d cleared every room. Ward had been at the entrance to keep any unfriendlies away. It just was not possible. Had this man killed them? If he had killed them, why did he spare May and Romanov? It couldn’t have been him.

But there they were in the hallway. Slumped together against the wall, clearly dragged there after the fact, sitting in a slowly spreading pool of blood on the concrete floor.

And then her feet were gone from beneath her.

Her hands whipped out to break her fall, slapping hard against the floor and splattering droplets of blood across her face. She began to draw her legs back in to get to her feet as her body moved swiftly backward. The grip on her ankle was strong enough to be painful. She knew that the greave would have the distinct imprint of fingers on it. She whipped her body around as best she could to face her attacker.

“You certainly are relentless, aren’t you?”

He looked monstrous with her blackened handprints across his face and the fire in his eyes that said failure was not an option. She caught his arm as he struck out with his blade again. “This is getting old.” She gripped the shiny metal arm and let a flow of energy run through it. “Let’s do some more testing on that electrically-based theory, shall we?” Green-gold currents arched over the surface and danced through the joints as they slid past one another to recalibrate his movements. The thing must have been wired more closely into his body than she’d initially thought. His jaw clenched and the flesh and blood hand shook as the energy crept over his chest and down that side of his body. He didn’t let go of the knife. He didn’t let up from pinning her legs beneath him.

He continued to press forward.

Somehow, it would have been too easy to simply disappear. Somehow, appearing out of thin air beside SHIELD’s finest spies would have garnered far too much suspicion. Somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to just end this man, either. There was something about him. Something nagging at her about the shape of his mouth.

That, and he was exceedingly interesting.

This world needed more interesting.

Unable to reach the blade in her boot, she reached into the void to produce another. Gripping the handle against her palm, she shoved the triangular blade into her attacker’s side. His flinch allowed her enough leeway to escape from under him. He gave chase through the corridor, the pair of them leaving gory footprints in their wake.

As she approached the ladder embedded in the wall that the group of them had first come down, she realized the only sounds she could hear echoing in the space were her own heavy breaking and pounding footsteps. She swiped at the wetness on her face and flinched. She didn’t have time to worry about it.

She began to climb.

“What’s going on up there?”

“Waiting for extraction. We’ve got company.”

“Can’t be worse than the company I have down here. I’m coming up.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s taken care of.” Whether he’d passed out or died, he didn’t appear to be following.

When she reached the surface she was met with the sound of rapid gunfire. “Where’s the bird?”

Natasha barely glanced at her, “Can’t land. They started shooting at it.”

“And Stark didn’t warn them?”

“Evidently not.” She paused, took aim, and fired before crouching back down beneath the cover of the rock formations near the mouth of the cave.

“Pretty and deadly.” It seemed to be a group decision to simply ignore Ward’s comment.

“This is ridiculous.” She tossed her empty magazine aside and loaded the next. “I’m going out there.”

Loki peeked out from around their covered position as the spy crept outward in the shadows of their covered position against the wall. The gunfire had stopped. They couldn’t have run out of ammunition that quickly.

***

He’d taken a large part of the information on Molniya with a grain of salt. Static in the air. Colorful, visible energy. Force fields. All the ramblings of interrogators who were too afraid of a little woman. A little woman who seemed to be slightly insane, or at least a wonderful actress. But just a little woman. There was no way any of that was true. The way the low-men-on-the-totem-pole crossed themselves and muttered curses and blessings in turn when he asked questions about the woman or muttered her name told him it was all superstitious bullshit.

And apparently he was wrong.

He wasn’t sure that he’d ever been wrong in assessing a target before.

It made his stomach flip and his heart pound.

It made the ringing in his ears ebb off into that insistent scream that he was increasingly aware was probably his own.

He’d shot—what? —A hologram?

None of his rounds could touch her. They bounced away from her and slinked against the floor. Every single one.

She was faster than he had anticipated. There had been a section of the report that described her as being “everywhere at once.” Is this what they had meant? They surely couldn’t have been describing her literally being _everywhere_. But whatever that thing had been as he came through the door…

His face hit the console. Hard. His mask caved in against his nose with the force of it. He couldn’t decide if something was broken or not. His adrenaline was surging too high to feel much other than the warmth of the blood running down the back of his throat and filling his mouth. The inside of his cheek burned where he’d clearly bitten a chunk off.

She kept trying to engage him. To distract him, surely.

He had to get out of his own head. He had to focus.

He was the mission. He was nothing but the mission. _He could not fail the mission._

Any person who had come up against him, who had been pressed beneath or struck with the force of his arm had been snuffed out quickly. But she was struggling. She was resilient. She was—

_Blue?_

All that there was room for in his mind was the searing pain at the contact between his skin and hers. It was cold and hot and pure, unadulterated _pain_ in a way he could never fathom having felt before. It was like someone flipped a switch. Like a glitch. Like the spiral down into nothingness in the chair with the rubber block between his teeth.

When—how—why was he sprawled on the floor? He got to his feet, waiting to strike or defend or something when he realized she was still in the room. If a bullet couldn’t touch her, perhaps a blade could. He doubted it, but his arsenal and options were dwindling quickly.

She couldn’t leave this room alive.

She mirrored him strike for strike. Blocking. Dodging. Letting him hit some kind of wall that seemed to crackle and shimmer with light.

They weren’t as superstitious and foolish as he thought.

And then she was gone. Just _gone._ That hadn’t been in the dossier.

He stumbled forward with the force of his strike as it sliced through the air and hit nothing.

He couldn’t let her get away.

Somehow, she was standing out in the corridor.  She was just past the vent he had slipped out of staring down at a pile of bodies. He could only imagine she had killed them. Anyone—anything with that kind of efficiency was worth being slightly on guard about. His best option was the element of surprise.

Did she realize how long she was spending standing there? Frozen? Staring? Admiring her handiwork? She clearly didn’t hear him as he slinked up the hall behind her—unless this was another hologram or illusion or whatever the _fuck_ that had been. When he slid across the floor to knock her off her feet.

He held her ankle tightly as she fought and squirmed and kicked. He pinned her to the floor.

She couldn’t get up again. She had to join the cooling corpses against the wall.

She looked fierce and terrible with blood splattered across her face. Her pupils were blown wide, the blackness of them making her irises look even more intensely green. Her skin was flushed with exertion.

Fear flitted across her features for the briefest of moments as he pressed his blade downward toward her throat.

And then, there was a shift. Her face was eerily calm, her tone bored. She was gripping his arm with her hands and the air was filled with static and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Electricity was coursing through his body. It was like the chair. Worse than the chair. His teeth clenched so tightly together he was sure he could feel the cracking.

The screaming that had faded into the background threw itself into the front of his mind. Filled his head, competed for control of his hearing with the pounding of his heart.

Failure wasn’t an option.

He pressed forward.

He barely felt the blade as it slipped into his flesh. It must have been incredibly sharp. Where had it come from? He scrambled to his feet and started to chase her down the hallway. There was an exit up ahead; he’d been informed of that. He’d been informed that there would be some kind of team out there to take down anyone who came out.

The pain in his side was too much. When he pressed his hand to the slice in the fabric, the layers of protection that the blade had gone through like butter—where did that expression come from? He could remember butter. He could remember the look of it. The smoothness of if. He could see it in his head as it melted over a slice of hot bread. He could hear laughter over the screaming in his head. It was musical and childlike and boyish.

He looked down at his hand, slicked with his own blood.

When was the last time he had bled during a mission? When was the last time someone had matched him?

Something was wrong.

He stopped.

He turned back.

He didn’t know how he wound up back in the ceiling, safely tucked into the space of the vent he had entered through. He lay there on his back for a moment, trying to catch his breath and steady his hands, trying to ignore the vague memory of the taste of butter on his tongue.

He pressed his finger to the earpiece he was wearing. “Molniya is approaching. Conventional methods are ineffective.”

A rough voice came back to him, telling him to get back to the surface, that his mission was not complete, that they had more than enough firepower to take care of Molniya since _his_ methods had proven so _useless._

His body shook as he got to his hands and knees and crawled back toward the point he had entered from. Soon enough the hot, dry air of the surface was whipping against his face. He made his way back up toward the sniper’s nest in the upper rooms of the house the entry point was hidden beneath.

In the distance, there was the sound of an explosion.

Perhaps they would not count it as a complete failure. But he’d been out to long. He knew exactly what he had to look forward to.

He could only hope as he pressed his body to the box spring beneath the window ledge and settled himself against the sight. His hands steadied with the familiarity of it as he scanned the windows of the other buildings.

***

A single figure stepped into view, swinging something that looked like a rocket launcher into a position to fire. Loki briefly imagined the woman at the end of that movie Clint had insisted she watch—Winners? No. _The Losers._

The Spider raised her arm and cocked her gun, leveling her aim at the figure.

“Natasha, no!” Loki pulled the woman into her arms and back toward the safety and cover of the mouth of the cave. She could feel the pressure of the blast as it hit the wall of energy she released. She could hear the screams as the shrapnel and flame hurtled back toward their origin. She could hear Natasha’s harsh breathing and the Hawk shouting in her ear wanting to know what had been the cause of the explosion he heard.

Where was that man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a piece of crap and I'm ashamed of it, but there you go.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the update, regardless.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	69. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and the tac team go up against HYDRA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Vaguely spoilery bits in the sections from the Winter Soldier's perspective. Very vaguely. Ish. There's a pretty big chunk from his POV because I wanted to take the opportunity to explore him as a character before I get to incorporating any of the events of CATWS. He's also going to be treated rather roughly at the end of the chapter, but what can you expect from HYDRA and people who subjected Clint and Onheil to torture?

Steve directed his team through the first alleyway feeling like he was back in the field with the Commandos. Feeling like he was back with his brothers in arms. His heart and his head were swimming with adrenaline and excitement that he couldn’t quite bring himself to be ashamed of. When he caught sight of a figure falling from a window and then another falling from a roof, he couldn’t help but feel like he had Bucky at his back, covering him once again. For the first time in a while, the memory didn’t make him sad or regretful. He was back in his element. He was where he belonged. He couldn’t see Clint, but he thanked him over the comm.

“I got your back, Cap. No worries.” There was the faintest sound of Clint discharging the spent shell and cocking the gun once again.

The first structure they cleared was completely empty. There was no roof access and if anyone was up there, he was confident that Clint or Tony would be able to take care of them.

“Cap, be careful. Word from underground is that Tony’s weird heat signatures are families. Looks like these goons are living here—taking advantage of the short commute, I guess.” Clint sounded concerned.

“Rogers!” The woman who was the group’s regular leader and spokesperson motioned for Steve to come over. Her rifle was trained against the door. There was crying and shushing behind it. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered. He slipped his shield onto the clip at his back and eased through the door to find a woman with a few smaller children and an infant.

“You think they’d pull some ‘Nam shit and use the kids?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. If this is HYDRA…and I’m pretty sure it is,” Steve took careful note of the way the woman winced and held her child closer when he said the word. “They’re…well…”

“Fucked up?”

“Exactly.”

The team leader put a hand up. “Don’t worry Captain. We’ve got it covered. We clear little outskirt-hold-out villages all the time.” They eased backward out of the door and she seamlessly began directing part of the team to begin directing civilians—women, children, anyone not dangerous—to a safe point at the edge of the village for pick up and radioing the base to explain the situation. “I’m assuming we’re not necessarily looking to take any of the baddies alive?”

Familial units—elderly men and women, mothers, children, teenagers—composed of frightened, confused people seemed to be contained to one end of the village.

“I feel like they knew we were coming.”

“I’m sure they knew we were coming.”

There were few tussles. Some confiscated weapons. Some young adults that appeared to already have begun to be absorbed by HYDRA’s cause with plastic cuffs led away for detainment and questioning at SHIELD’s field office somewhere out in the Hindu Kush.

“I feel like this is too easy.” Steve agreed as they stepped over the body of the first man Clint had felled. “Why would they leave the place totally unprotected? I mean, if they don’t care about their families, okay, but what about what’s down below?”

“Hawkeye, what’s going on underground?”

“By all accounts it’s empty. Sounds like Onheil’s got some company, but she’s handling it. Three down, one assailant.”

“This just doesn’t make sen—“

Gunfire erupted and Steve and the tac team fell into defensive positions in doorways and in the alley they were near. “Well, that answers our question.”

“Certainly does.”

“Engage?”

“Engage.”

The HYDRA agents—because that was what Steve was positive they were at this point—seemed just as intent on drawing the small team into hand to hand combat as they were on firing from covered positions.

“Feels like they’re trying to wear us out, Rogers.”

“Certainly does.” Rounds ricochet off the shield as Steve ducked behind it briefly before knocking the handgun out of the agent’s grip and then knocking the agent into the side of the building several yards off.

At least some things never changed. HYDRA still threw all of their eggs in one basket when it came to a fight. They still sent the whole damned battalion into one spat. They still had the same combat skills—or quite frankly, lack there of. Steve had certainly been training his rear end off since he woke up, studying new styles, fighting new partners, learning new strategies; but he didn’t think that HYDRA had taught their people something new since the last time he stormed a base. They were even still wearing those same uniforms.

“Barton? Can you take care of any of this?”

“Not really. You guys are too tangled up. I don’t want to risk it. I can pick ‘em off on the edges but that’s all I can give you.”

“Better than nothing.” He drove an opponent back, slammed him into the dust. “Do we know what’s going on below? They still got company?”

“Not sure. They haven’t checked in. Give them a few minutes. They’re all more than capable, Cap. Don’t worry about her. Focus on what’s in front of you.” Agents at the edge of the fight began to drop at varied intervals, downed by Clint’s keen sight.

Time stopped for a moment as the sound of an explosion echoed through the village. “What the fuck was that?” one of his men asked incredulously.

“Barton? Stark? What’s happening?” Clint didn’t answer. Steve hoped it was because he was communicating with Onheil, finding out what was wrong and if she and her team were okay—or at least, what was left of her team.

“Explosion or something, Cap. From here looks like Miss Mischief shielded something? There was a big green blast.” Tony paused in his commentary for a moment. The wall of a building a few yards off collapsed with the trademark light from a repulsor blast followed by cries of agony from beneath the rubble. “They were setting up to pick you guys off. Figured I’d put a lid on the party.”

“Thanks.” It was like they were multiplying. _Cut off one head and two more will take its place._ It was chaotic. At least it looked like the tac team was still standing, no serious injuries, no one down. “Tony?”

“Already ahead of you, Spangles. Going to help them out now.”

Steve could feel tension he didn’t know he was holding release as he once again placed his full focus on the task at hand. “There’s too many!” He agreed as the team began to try to take more defensible positions, hoping to be able to disengage from hand-to-hand combat.

_HYDRA’s not going to attack you with a pocketknife._

Howard was so fucking wrong. Immediately so, in fact. HYDRA’s favorite hand-to-hand weapon seemed to be knives.

The young soldier didn’t see the agent coming toward him, blade drawn. Steve grabbed the back collar of his flack jacket and pulled him behind the shield, crouching to cover them both wile the woman who led the team took the knife wielding agent down as his blow glanced off the vibranium disk. He let out a nervous huff of a laugh, “Hoorah, Captain.” His lopsided grin didn’t match the mix of fear and relief in his eyes.

The flurry of fighting didn’t stop. Steve’s shoulder began to ache with the tug and pull or his movements and the force he used to throw attackers away. He knew if he was beginning to feel the first twinges of hurt that the others must be flat out exhausted.

But that was the thing about people like these, people like the Commandos, they didn’t give up. They followed through. They finished the mission.

“She’s sassing me. She’s fucking _sassing_ me.”

“What?”

“The green-eyed monster. Miss Mischief. Nidhogg. Ygritte. The woman is sassing me.”

“I guess that means she’s okay?”

“Yeah. So are Natasha, May, and Ward. No sign of the others. Widow says they’re dead.”

“Are they in the air yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Tony?”

“Cap.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh no, Make-Sure-Capsicle’s-Girlfriend-Doesn’t-Get-Dead Duty requires much more than saying thanks. It requires kissing of the rear end. Especially when the girlfriend resorts to sass instead of thanks.”

“Yeah. Okay, Stark. Just cover us?”

“As usual, I will come to save the day. Any missiles that need to be flown up into a rip in time-space to stop an alien army?”

“Now who’s sassing who?”

At some point, Steve had allowed himself to be isolated. It felt vaguely like the time he’d allowed himself to be captured, surrounded by HYDRA agents with flamethrowers. It certainly wasn’t that theatric now. Nor as deliberate. He slowly turned, taking inventory. The rest of the team was more than occupied.

How it happened, he wasn’t entirely sure. But that was the thing about HYDRA. When they said two more would take the place of the one you defeated, they really weren’t kidding. He was effectively surrounded, circled, corralled in. He needed to break their line. “Hawkeye?”

“I’m on it. They got a little ahead of me.” Almost immediately two fell.

It was enough of a distraction to give him a window as they tried to close ranks around him again.

“You okay over there, Rogers?” The shout came from the other end of the melee.

“Of course. More than okay. Super. I could do this all day.”

Steve launched himself against the nearest wall. Pushing off with his feet, he felt as though he were flying. His momentum allowed him to bring his legs up and around, slamming his heel into the shoulder of the nearest man to knock him down and free himself from the cage of HYDRA agents. Steve took off at a sprint, trying to draw the bulk of the fight away from his own men, to give them time to recoup. As he ran, he felt the slightest pinch at his back. Heard the crack of a rifle shatter the atmosphere.

He got a few more yards before his knees crumpled beneath him. Before he was kneeling in the dust. Before his chin slammed into the ground, jarring his teeth and making his helmet rattle on his head.

His mouth filled with the taste of blood.

He willed himself to move. To rise. To fight.

He failed.

***

It was just a matter of waiting for a clear shot.

One shot.

He only needed one shot.

He had a one-hundred-percent kill rate. He knew that. Intuitively. No one had to remind him of that. He felt it in his bones.

But he’d failed. He had allowed the primary target to best him. He’d allowed the target to escape.

He could still taste the faint ghost of butter when he licked his lips. He could hear that boyish laughter.

His hands were steady. His eyes were focused.

The rest of him was trembling. He drew in slow, deep breaths as he tried to recall his training and lower his heart rate and stall the bleeding from the wound in his side.

Fuck this. They were in his way. Some of them were falling, downed by some unknown sniper. He would have to scan the buildings again, take out whomever it was eventually. The hidden shooter wasn’t working quickly enough. He chambered a bullet and let it fly. The HYDRA agent he had aimed for fell.

The trembling in his body began to subside as he fell into that familiar space of muscle memory and patience. _He could do this all day._

He shook his head. The man with the shield was breaking through the agents who were attempting to surround and subdue him. He was all force. He was all forward drive and little finesse. Too bad he wouldn’t live to learn to be more subtle.

He took aim, the man with the shield safely in his crosshairs.

_You’re takin’ all the stupid with you._

It was so clear. He thought for a moment that someone had snuck up on him. His aim faltered. The intended shot through the back of the neck fell to the man’s lower back. He stayed on his feet for a few beats before he fell, ass in the air like it was waiting to be kicked, arm bearing the shield bent at an odd angle because of the position.

He watched as the smaller soldier the man with the shield had defended shouted and gesticulated and slid across the ground, kicking up dust. He crouched low, covering the man’s upper body with his own, wrenching the shield off the man’s arm and using it to cover the two of them.

“Please be dead.”

He watched through the scope, waiting for a sign of life, aware that the other sniper could be doing the same to him. His skin was sticky with drying blood on the inside of his clothing. Each small movement made the wound open again as he lay on his stomach and watched. Waited.

The man with the shield wasn’t dead. His arm moved. His fingers groped at the laces of the soldier’s boot.

He couldn’t get another clear shot. If the soldier was blocking the man with his body, sure. He’d done that more than once. It was an easy, effective method. Take out the target and the nearest threat all in one go. But that shield was a complication. Bullets hit it and fell, leaving barely a scratch on the surface.

He shuddered to think what would happen when he gave his mission report. When he admitted to his failure.

He scanned the windows of the other buildings, making swift calculations based on how the HYDRA agents he’d observed falling had moved, where they appeared to have been struck from.

“There you are.” The man behind the rifle was scanning windows as well. His lips were moving wildly. His face was red and his forehead was scrunched with anger. He focused on the sniper’s lips. _Steve! Steve! Cap! Are you okay? What’s happening? Are you hit? Steve! Fucking answer me!_

So the man with the shield’s name was Steve, presumably. He couldn’t see if there was anyone else in the room with the sniper. The best option seemed like it might be to destroy the room entirely. He set the rifle aside and replaced it with the modified A-91 resting on the floor beside the box spring. He’d hoped to not have to use it, he didn’t like to leave a mess, he liked to get in and get out. Silent. Unseen. But watching the enemy sniper through the scope as he raged into his communication device had confirmed that it was the man who’d acted as Molniya’s husband.

He took careful aim, firearm supported against the unforgiving metal of his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. There was a shower of dust and clay and brick as the sniper’s nest was decimated.

Panic rushed through him as a small point in the sky came closer and took the shape of a man. It stopped, aimed, and unleashed a bright blast of light toward his own nest. He rolled out of the way and ducked for cover as the walls crumbled around him.

It was dark when he was able to uncover himself from the rubble. He’d lost so much time. They’d given him twenty-four hours to complete the mission. It was okay. He was sure that it was still okay. He wasn’t late. He hoped he wasn’t late. His heart raced with panic at the thought that he had not only very possibly failed the mission, but had also failed to report back at the appointed time.

He dragged himself into the cool night air. There were dark, amorphous shapes in the street below. They were unmoving. Casualties of the battle.

Breathing in was painful. He had to struggle to pull himself up to a standing position. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to get himself to the roof for extraction. He picked his way carefully to the ladder that would lead him there. It was slow going, but he made it. He pressed his back to the waist-height wall for support as he sat and fished his communicator out of his pocket.

“Asset ready for extraction. Medical attention necessary.”

He closed his eyes and waited. Soon enough, the beat of helicopter blades was audible. Wind whipped around him and he got to his feet, waiting for the ladder to drop. He was met with silence and steel gazes as he clambered up into the passenger space. He didn’t object when the agent sitting beside him slipped the syringe into the side of his neck and he fell into blissful darkness.

_No fair. I had that guy._

_Sorry, I called dibs._

_Sure you did. I softened ‘im up for ya, anyway. He—ow._

_You okay, pal?_

“Mission report.” He forced his eyes open. He was lying down. His body ached. He was hungry. His throat was raw and dry like someone had shoved something down there and ripped it out. “Mission report.” At least he wasn’t strapped down. He lifted his hand to rub at his eyes. He tried to lift the other and found it was offline. He could smell the metallic tang of the soldering iron. “Mission report. _Now_.”

It was the most familiar voice he know. The man in charge. The only truly consistent thing between all of the periods of cold and darkness. Between the rush of missions. It had grown gravely over time, marking the passage of what he was sure was years.

“Mission incomplete. Asset failure. Molniya escaped. Abilities met and exceeded verified information. Current status unknown. Shield hit and injured. Status unknown. Molniya’s husband located and hit. Status unknown.”

“You cannot confirm any kills.”

It was more statement than question.

“No.”

“What the fuck happened to you?”

He began to explain his strange encounter with Molniya. “She’s so much more than what you anticipated. So much more.” He was quiet, watching the tech work on his arm. It looked like some of the plates had been dented. He could see blackened circuitry that must have been damaged when Molniya electrocuted him.

When the tech was finished, he sat up on the edge of the operating table. The bandage over his side told him they’d tended to his medical needs at least. Perhaps that was why his throat hurt so badly.

The man in charge was standing with his arms folded, studying him carefully. He crossed the room in a few strides and gripped his head with surprising force for an older man. His scalp screamed in protest at the searing pain. His face was gripped in the other hand. Tears sprang to his eyes at the pressure of the digits digging into his damaged flesh.

“Failure is not an option.”

“I know.” It was difficult to answer with the hand gripping so tightly. He knew better than to shrug away.

“If you know, then why did you allow it to happen?” He was hauled into standing by the grip on his hair. He forced himself to maintain eye contact. It was these little rebellions. These little displays of confidence. These small moments that let him maintain some sort of control.

He was the asset. The weapon. The assassin. His work was shaping history. Shaping the future.

But this man…this man could end him.

“I don’t know.” He tried to keep himself from panting. His eyes stung with the salt of his tears. “I don’t know.”

“Fucking worthless.” He found himself sliding across the floor, the scrape of his bare skin against the unforgiving concrete almost too much. He knew his flank would be scraped to shreds. He curled in on himself when the boot made contact with his gut, fought down the urge to heave. “Why should I keep you when you can’t do your fucking job?”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’ll do better. Next time. I’ll find her. I’ll eliminate her.” He wasn’t sure if trying to get up would be the best idea or not. So he waited. He kept his eyes on the boots standing a few feet off. When they walked away and the door slammed shut. He waited a breath before rising and pulling his pants and shoes on. The door opened again as he was threading his belt through the loops. He was a fast healer. He knew the next time he was pulled out of stasis that he would be fine. Good as new. Ready to be deployed. Ready to redeem himself.

He had failed his mission. He was nothing.

When he entered the lab, the techs stopped what they were doing to watch him. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before sitting down in the chair. He hesitated before resting his arms against the chair arms, dreading the moment that they would lock him there.

“I suppose we can’t call it a complete failure. He did get some additional information on the target. But we wouldn’t need that information had she simply been eliminated.”

So his failure was being discussed. He wondered briefly how many people knew? How many people knew that the asset had malfunctioned, had failed, had not completed the mission?

He refused to sit back in response to the gloved hand on his chest. “That man.” The man in charge turned to look at him, an expression of disgust painted over his features. “The man with the shield. Why is he important?”

“Wipe him.” He could feel his chin quiver. His eyes filled with tears once again in response to this new blow. He’d woken with the feeling that the man with the shield—the man who was called _Steve_ , who was called _Cap_ —was important.

“Have I met him before? Why was he a target?” Questions usually got him nowhere. The rage in the eyes that fell on his face told him to stop.

“I want him clean. Blank. Give him all of it.” The tech started to protest, to explain that too much would damage him. “Does it look like I care?” The man in charge crossed the room and snatched the rubber bite block off the tray beside the chair. It was shoved unceremoniously between his teeth. A firm hand pushed him against the back of the chair. “Do it. Now. Wipe him.”

His pulse started to race in anticipation. His chest heaved and made his ribs ache. His fingers, metal and flesh, gripped the arms of the chair as the restraints clicked into place. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the device clamp around his head.

All he knew was white-hot, searing pain. Twitching muscles. Screaming that he thought was coming from him but felt like it had a source elsewhere, somewhere buried deep inside. When it was over he could not remember why he had been so agitated. He knew he had been. He could remember nervousness, fear. He couldn’t articulate the reason for it.

His head throbbed. His jaw ached from clamping down on the rubber block. His heart was pounding. He swiped at the thick drop of blood rolling down over his lip. There was a dark wetness on the front of his pants.

The man in charge shook his head as if disappointed. “Get him cleaned up and back in stasis. He’s been out too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there we have it. Have I mentioned that I hate writing action sequences? I'm sorry I really suck at it. So, Winter Soldier shot Steve. We know for sure that Rumlow and Lukin are working either for or with HYDRA, although who exactly is calling the shots is still unclear.
> 
> The little bit of dialogue that WS remembers/imagines is from a comic that I cannot find the panels for. If anyone sees it on tumblr, please link me to it. I think it was from an issue from the 80s. I know. Vague info, but it's all I got.
> 
> I finally got a hold of a copy of TTDW on DVD so hopefully I can start making some more direct references to the events therein and have more material to draw from during future chapters and I can play a little bit more with Thor as a character in the future as well.
> 
> Still toying with the idea of Carol Danvers making a quick cameo. She probably won't become a major character, just a short interaction as I'm not comfortable writing her. I haven't read enough of her comics to really do her justice.
> 
> Poor Clint just keeps getting beat the hell up. He got lucky last time. Will he come out of this one unscathed?
> 
> As for Winter Soldier, his programming is clearly breaking down because of the amount of time that he's spent out of cryostasis (and possibly a little cognitive recalibration courtesy of Loki) and with being exposed to information about and photographs of Steve. Silly HYDRA, you should be more careful.
> 
> I posted about it on the blog, but I'll repeat it here. I have a few intimate/smut scenes drafted. One is Loki/Sigyn to use for a flashback/memory and I don't know where it's going to fit yet, one is Loki/OC (who has already been introduced) and will be post-reveal. Just taking tallies on how many are interested in them? I can either make them a big deal or not, or do more of them or not, so I'm fishing for opinions a bit. I've also got a bit of Loki and Sigyn interacting with Narfi and Vali because, you know, I'm not cruel enough to all of them.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. The ask box is open on Onheil's blog again and anon is turned on. We don't always post/respond publicly to messages, but please know that they're always sincerely appreciated. Submissions are still closed for the time being, but if you'd like to submit something please let me know in a comment or ask and I'll be more than happy to open it back up for you!


	70. At Fault for Free Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki learns some alarming information.

“Onheil? ‘Tash? What’s going on over there?” Loki kept her embrace tight, pressing the Spider to her body.

“Unless Ferguson is planning on suffocating me, I think we’re fine, Hawk.” Natasha didn’t move. She allowed Loki to open her arms on her own terms. “You alright there?” She glanced over Loki’s shoulder where the shimmering green-gold energy barrier was holding up against the barrage of bullets from those who had survived the blast. The shield shimmered and shimmied and rippled, but nothing came through.

May’s face was a neutral mask as she watched from the position she had taken cover under. Ward’s countenance was split in two by his grin. “You alright?”

Loki looked down at Natasha and blinked. Never did she think that she would ever find herself in a position to be defending this woman. Never did she think she would ever find herself in a position to _want_ to defend this woman. She didn’t _like_ the Spider. She didn’t _trust_ the Spider. But she felt the _need_ to protect Natasha. “I…” Loki took a step back and focused her gaze on the shield. She went through quick calculations and outcomes in her head, trying to decide whether it would be better to simply drop it or to push it outward or weaponize the defensive spell.

“Onheil.” May’s voice was firm behind her.

“Yes. I’m fine.” She rubbed her face wincing as she dragged open a cut she hadn’t realized she’d sustained across her cheek. “I just…I don’t want to loose anyone else.” Natasha was speaking into her communicator, informing Clint of their situation. Loki stepped out of the mouth of the cave into the heat of the afternoon, squinting against the sun and the dust carried on the wind. The few men still standing focused their energies on her. May came up beside her, gun drawn, ready to fire when necessary. “You’d think they would have given up.”

The agent shook her head, “Probably think they can break a hole in it. Or wear it down. They look scared.” They walked right up to the barrier. May put her hand up, extended her fingers, watched the play of tiny threads of energy reaching out to caress her hand like the shield was a living thing and had interest in her.

“They should be scared.”

“Should we?” Loki turned to look at her as the trickle of blood from the slice in her cheek gathered on her jaw and dropped down onto the front of her suit.

“No.”

“Good.”

The sky filled with the sound of discordant drums and screeching guitars. “Stark.”

“Everyone okay over here? Spangles is having a heart attack. We all heard that little explosion.”

“We’re fine. Three of ours are dead below. Ward, May, Romanov, and I are fine.”

“I take it your extraction didn’t go as planned.”

“No, not in the slightest.”

“So what can I do to help?”

“Take out the vehicles.”

“Can do. You gonna stand around and do nothing?”

“Of course not. Are you going to hang there in the air doing nothing?” He snorted in response and set to work on the vehicles with the arsenal built into his suit. Using the distraction to their advantage, Loki and the remaining members of her team advanced upon their attackers as the shield dissolved.

May and Natasha worked together as they were immediately engaged in a firefight with those closest to them. Loki grinned as she watched them work in tandem in her peripheral vision. She whipped the dagger out of her boot and set to taking out her own set of opponents. Ward was a flurry of foot and fist and pistol whipping.

Loki felt alive. Felt a rush.

Felt ashamed to feel so good as she snapped a man’s neck.

Steve wouldn’t feel this way taking a life.

He would do what was necessary for the greater good, but he would not feel this… _gleeful._

“Fuck, Stark, this is my battle…my mission…no?”

“I suppose, if you want to be selfish about it.”

“Don’t I—“ she paused as she slid between the legs of her attacker and planted her blade firmly into his back, sure she had plunged it into a lung. “Don’t I get some theme music? You certainly always provide it for yourself.”

_Can’t stay at home, can’t stay at school. Old folks say, ya poor little fool. Down the street I’m the girl next door, I’m the fox you’ve been waiting for._

Loki snorted a laugh as the man beneath her struggled, his face turning red as she clamped her thighs down around his neck.

_Hello daddy, hello mom. I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb! Hello world, I’m your wild girl. I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!_

“Good enough theme music for you, Miss Mischief?”

The man stopped struggling, tiny points of black-and-blue freckling his skin across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “I quite like it. Perhaps I’ll choreograph something to it. Dedicate my next show to you.”

“While that would be an incredible honor…I don’t think Steve would appreciate you getting naked with me in mind.”

“Who said it would be me? There’s a lovely young man in our troupe who is quite the Joan Jett fan.”

“You know who she is?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

Their helicopter finally landed when their attackers were either dead or subdued. They took the three least damaged into custody for questioning. A light kiss from Loki’s magic had them sitting quietly and obediently for the duration of their ride back to the Bus.

The prisoners were immediately brought to the interrogation room and holding cells to be worked over by Romanov. Coulson followed closely behind, pulling Natasha aside for a moment to whisper something. The Spider’s eyes flicked to Loki and away.

“Hello? Are you listening?” Loki focused back on Hill and apologized. “I said, we need to talk about whatever company you had down there.”

“Of course.” They retreated to what Maria explained was Coulson’s private office. When they’d made themselves comfortable, Loki described her encounter. “He was fast. Strong. Adapted extremely easily. He was relentless.” She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, considering the whole event. “Reminded me of the Captain. Not the style. That was completely opposite. He was…slippery. Steve is just brute force. The strength. The relentlessness. The fact that he seemed to hardly feel any blow that I dealt him.” She neglected to describe utilizing her Jotun self as a weapon, among other things. “I don’t know how he got there. We cleared that place. And Ward…Ward was supposed to be guarding the entry point. I don’t know how he could have gotten past Ward and killed three people unnoticed. Perhaps there was another entrance that we did not—that I did not account for.” Loki frowned. “After I stabbed him and I ran, he just disappeared.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I am responsible for three of my own dying. Three people. I led three people to their deaths.” Maria frowned and started to assure her that it was not her fault. But it was. Battles on Asgard, Jotunheim, Vanaheim… they were full of death, drenched in the blood of warriors who were rushing toward Valhalla. But these people. These Midgardians. These allies. These…friends. They were not Valhalla-bound. They would not be lifted up by some Valkyrie to live in the lush fields and sumptuous halls they guarded. They were just dead. Midgardians did not long for death or the life beyond it. There was no promise of rising up at Ragnarok. There was no promise of something more.

Steve would take issue with her thoughts. That she knew.

But she also knew that she was responsible for three deaths.

“Onheil, you couldn’t have prevented it. You did everything you were supposed to. You did everything right. This guy…no one could have anticipated him.”

Loki leaned down and unfastened the greave that bore the impression of the man’s fingers and spoke to the crushing grip of his metal hand. She placed it on the desk in front of Hill. “I’d like to go get out of my suit, get cleaned up.”

“Of course.”

She stripped out of her remaining armor, the Kevlar suit, and the thermal under suit. She washed blood and dirt from her face and hands. When she was dressed again in her own jeans and shirt from the bag they’d clearly taken from Clint’s loft when they picked him up—the temptation to pilfer something of Steve’s was difficult to resist with his bag sitting on the bunk beside hers—she ventured back out to find Hill again.

“Maria, I—“ She was speaking in hushed tones with Coulson. Their conversation halted when she approached. “I am sorry, I did not mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine, Onheil. What do you need?”

“I just…” She rubbed the back of her neck, gripping it as she spoke. “I just wanted to make sure they wouldn’t be left behind.”

“Who?” She looked meaningfully at Maria, not wanting to name the dead, finding the lump in her throat too large to speak around. Thankfully, the agent understood. “No, they won’t be left behind. Army is sending in a unit to work with the SHIELD satellite office out in the mountains. They’re going to do a final sweep and clear the location. They’ll be brought home.”

Loki nodded, relieved. She did not want to leave anyone behind. She fished the jump drive out of her pocket and handed it over. Coulson slipped it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and thanked her. “I’m not sure if there’s much there. I was interrupted.”

“Agent Hill was filling me in on the details.” He gestured to her cheek. “May want to butterfly that. Healing-factor or not, it’ll probably be more comfortable. Barton’s pretty good at patching people up.”

Loki’s chest felt warm, her heart felt light. “They’re back?”

Coulson nodded. He started to speak and Loki ignored him, too eager to see Steve. To have him in her arms. To help him wipe the grit from his own face and hands. To rub the knots from his shoulders and have him tease her about kneeling to rub her feet. To tell him about the three. To hear what he had to say about it. To hear him tell her it was not her fault.

“Where’s my theme music, Stark?” The Man of Iron was standing in the bar area, still in his suit, already drinking three fingers of scotch with a grim expression on his face.

Loki’s smile fell as she laid eyes on the Hawk. “What happened to you?” He was bloodied and bruised and covered in dust. He pressed the heel of his palm to his ear as he turned toward her, face plastered with a grimace.

“Huh?”

“What happened to you?”

“Fuckin’ grenade. Destroyed my nest. Tony pulled me out. I’ll be fine.” There was already a First Aid kit opened on the table in the living space. May was going through it methodically, taking out bandages and ointments and setting aside instant ice packs.

Loki swept the room quickly and accounted for Ward sprawled across one of the seats. Natasha would probably still be down in interrogation. “Where is Steve?” He was probably stripping out of his uniform. He had told her once that the Captain America suit could be quite hot and uncomfortable, that it was difficult to get in and out of sometimes. The tactical and protective gear she had seen some of the soldiers at the base wearing didn’t look very comfortable either. Steve wouldn’t want to stay in that longer than he had to. He’d want a shower. Or at least to get some cool water on his face. After a battle sometimes that was better than a tankard of ale and a warm woman in your lap.

Clint wouldn’t meet her gaze. Ward snorted derisively, not bothering to pick up his head or open his eyes.

“Captain Rogers isn’t on board.”

Loki whipped her body around to face Coulson. “What do you mean?” She felt bile rise and burn the back of her throat. She forced herself to choke it down. “What do you mean Captain Rogers is not on board? Will he be joining us later? He was with the military team. I’m sure their officers need to be debriefed.”

“He won’t be joining us at all.”

“What do you mean he won’t be joining us at all?” Loki spoke through gritted teeth and flared nostrils. Why couldn’t he just spit it out?

The Captain was dead. Her Steven. Her Captain darling. She was sure of it.

“Captain Rogers has been seriously injured.”

She felt as though every muscle in her body was twitching and tensing. “How seriously? Should he not be here then? To be taken immediately to SHIELD’s medical facility?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he needed immediate attention. Because as far as the public at large is concerned, this mission will have been a covert military operation. If it had been a more subtle event, we could have cleaned up and gotten out. It was messy. It was loud. It was bloody.”

“So you are _leaving_ him?” Coulson shifted his weight away from her. Hill casually put her hand on her handgun. A warm hand fell heavily on her shoulder.

“Onheil—“ Loki knocked Clint’s hand away.

“You’re leaving him.”

“No, the army is handling it.” He paused as if collecting himself, deciding the best way to inform her. “He’s been transported to their closest field hospital.”

“Then I will go there.”

“You can’t.”

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do!”

“You can’t just waltz into a military field hospital, Ferguson.”

“I do what I want.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I am getting off this plane.” Clint held her wrist firmly. “You cannot stop me.”

“As your supervising agent, I am ordering you to calm down and sit the hell down. You’re going back to New York. You’ve met your objectives. You need to file your mission reports and be debriefed.”

Loki launched herself at Coulson. Barton was surprisingly quick, especially for an injured Midgardian. He held her tightly about the waist. She clawed at his arms and kicked out; fighting him only halfheartedly, inwardly glad for the pressure of his arms around her. “Let me go!”

Coulson clenched his jaw and his hands. “Captain Rogers is in good hands. First and foremost, he is an officer of the United States Army. They will take care of him. Their surgeons see injuries like this, unfortunately, every day.” He looked at her as if he wasn’t sure whether to yell at her or embrace her. Emotions flitted across his features, unable to settle into one expression. He turned on his heel and followed Hill away.

Loki let her body fall limp. Barton eased her to the floor and gradually moved his hold on her into something more comforting when she made no attempt to move.

Steve was seriously injured.

Steve was seriously injured and it was her fault.

It was her fault because she had needed to prove herself to these foolish, useless people.

Because had wanted to prove herself, she put Steve directly in the line of fire.

Steve was seriously injured and it was her fault.

And they were leaving him behind.

Clint was still holding onto her. She could feel Stark’s eyes on her, although he was doing his best to not look as though he were staring. May was observing cautiously. Loki twisted her body around to press her face into the curve of Clint’s shoulder as he shushed and cooed and patted and stroked.

“You know, for a man who made his living killing and stealing, you’re quite affectionate.”

He let out a gruff laugh and rested his chin against the top of her head. “Steve’s going to be okay.”

“It’s my fault. I put him out there. I put you out there. Three people are dead and the only person in this world who matters to me is hurt.”

Clint’s chest expanded against her and he let out a heavy sigh before gently pushing her away. “First: Hey, insulted here. Big time. Only person?” He cracked a bit of a smile before continuing when Loki did not take the bait. “Second: It’s not your fault. You strategized that someone recognizable would be best to draw fire and distract from the primary objective. You thought it would be useful if that person had prior military experience and work undercover with an actual military team. You strategized that a sniper would be useful to cover their position. You strategized that an experienced team of six would be able to take the base and sweep it for all it was worth considering all of their security or lack thereof.” He took a breath and pressed the heel of his palm to his ear again, wincing. “Any one of us could have opted out at any point or not agreed to take the mission. Stark even came of his own free will. Fury talks a big game, but he didn’t force anyone to be here. Those three agents knew what they were getting themselves into when they agreed to be part of the team. They knew what they were getting themselves into when they signed up for the academy. We all did, no matter how we got here. Steve thought your plan was good. He wanted to be a part of it. To protect you and to protect the interest of the greater good. Give him some credit.”

Ward rose from his seat, “I’m going to my bunk. This is getting too daytime drama for me. Rogers’ll be fine. He’s a super soldier. Web of molecular protection. Metabolism four times faster than the average man. Strong as an ox. High threshold for pain…” He continued his rant as he swiped the bottle of scotch off of the counter from in front of Tony and disappeared down the hallway.

Clint swiveled his head around in May’s direction. “Melinda, how the fuck are you sleeping with him? Does he fucking whine in bed too?”

“Wouldn’t know. I tune him out for the most part. Not interested in what he says.” She picked up and icepack and popped the core, shaking it vigorously back and forth. “Let’s go, Barton. That egg on your head isn’t getting any smaller.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, identity and moral crisis. My name is Loki, I think you may remember me from the Jotunheim Incident.
> 
> At least Clint is in one piece! But what's up with his head?
> 
> Ward is a jerk. I have no idea of any of what I've written for him is OOC but I I'm using him as a replacement for Brock, as I've said before. This is how I imagine Rumlow may have been. Charming to a point but rather full of himself and easily insulted/jealous. Perfect fodder for HYDRA to latch onto.
> 
> Theme music Tony picks for Onheil is of course, _Cheery Bomb_ by The Runaways.
> 
> Short chapter, but it felt like a natural place to stop and it's been a while since I've given you all a chapter purely from one perspective.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. You guys all say such wonderful things and I can't express how much I appreciate you all.


	71. Selfish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets help. Loki doesn't want any.

“Do not touch me!” Loki slapped Sigyn’s hand away from his knee. He was sat on the floor in their bedchamber in front of the hearth. The spot usually brought him calm, brought him clarity. It was doing nothing for him now—cold, empty stone stained with soot.

“Lopt—“ He got to his feet, leaving his wife kneeling on the furs before the empty fireplace. “Husband!” He stalked through the room and threw open the heavy curtains that closed off the balcony. “Loki, please. Tell me what has happened.”

“My brother is dead.”

“Oh!” Sigyn’s hands fluttered from her waist to her lips and then out toward Loki like moths unable to decide where upon the light they would like to land. “How? Who?”

“Baldr.” Loki clenched his jaw tightly and gripped the smooth stone of the balcony’s edge. “Baldr is dead by my hand.”

Sigyn drew in breath sharply. “That is impossible. You have no quarrel with Baldr. And did we not just receive word regarding Frigga’s doings?”

They had left the main palace shortly after Egil, unable to bear the weight of the pitiful looks that the Aesir cast upon Sigyn or the comfort the Allmother tried to smother them with. Sigyn had immediately dismissed both the serving girl and midwife from service when word reached her that many at court had learned of their hardship.

Loki had made his place at the edge of the Sea of Marmora, miles away from the principal city of the realm and the palace he had grown up in. Away from prying eyes. Away from listening ears. Away from Thor and Odin. Away from Sif. Away from the Warriors Three. Away from all of it. “Evidently, Frigga did not think that mistletoe was nefarious enough to strike him down.”

Sigyn let out a short bark of cold laughter, “What, did you slap him with a branch and he fell down dead?”

“Do no jest so, _wife_.” He whirled around to meet her face to face, his leathers rustling and whipping against stone and leg.

“Ada!” Loki looked from Sigyn to the chamber that Vali had burst into, out of breath and face flushed with running. Narfi followed close behind.

“Fadir.” He nodded his head in a show of respect, face equally flushed. “Modir. We apologize for the intrusion—“

“There are guards!” Narfi whacked Vali upside the head. Sigyn admonished the boys for their un-princely behavior.

Loki spoke low, “I do not know how they have come so quickly.” He moved past Sigyn and put a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “Go in there,” he gestured with a nod of his chin toward the door leading off to the bathing room. “Lock the door. Be very quiet. The guards are not here for you.”

Narfi nodded, Vali started to protest. Narfi was always the more serious of the pair, the more mature. Vali was pure energy and curiosity and complete childlike wonder even now as they were in the midst of their adolescence. Narfi tugged Vali through the door and closed it carefully.

“My Lopt, my air…what has happened?”

“Hodur.” Loki sighed heavily and pressed his forehead to hers. “He asked me to make a bow and an arrow, so I did.” He explained how he helped his sightless brother to knock the arrow and take aim with the magically crafted weaponry. How it pierced Baldr’s heart when others had simply bounced off of him harmlessly. The laughter of the men died slowly, unsure of whether or not the man who was light and warmth personified was simply pulling their legs. He was not. “Baldr is dead and it is my fault.”

“Loki, this is no fault of yours. You did not know. You could not have anticipated such a thing. Hodur—“

“Hodur is blind and could not have known.”

“Nonsense. He sees with his hands and his nose and his ears and his tongue. He _knew_.”

“No matter. I will be punished for my crimes.”

“Loki, you cannot submit to this foolishness! Crimes you did not commit knowingly cannot be punishable! Think of your sons!”

“I am thinking of my sons. And of you. To submit will distract attention. You must take them and leave here. I have friends in Alfheim. Go to them. I do not know that after I am executed that Odin will honor you any longer as a Princess of Asgard, nor our sons as princelings. You must go elsewhere. Somewhere safer.”

“My Lopt,” her expression was stern and defiant as she stroked his face. “We will not leave you. We will fight.”

It was weeks later when Loki next saw her. Criminals, tricksters, murders—fratricide—they didn’t warrant a place in Odin’s menagerie of prisoners in their clean white cages with their magic observation windows. No. Those were for the particularly valuable or interesting. The dungeons, dirty and rank and dark and wet, were the appointed residence for the most debased. The dungeons were where Sigyn came sweeping into in all of her sunlit glory with her soft furs and open face, freckled and lovely. She seemed to have abandoned her usual blue and purple robes, her red fox furs, her soft deer hides for leathers and Loki’s colors.

“You look ravishing in green, min elskede.” His voice was rough from disuse. The chains about his wrists clinked softly in the stillness of the space as he reached up to cup her face in his hands.

“Do not go soft on me now.” She combed her fingers through his hair, stringy and wet with sweat and grime. “I need you fierce. I need you fiery.”

“To what point? I have resolved to face my execution. I am only confused as to what is taking so long. Is there discussion as to whether it should be a public or private event?”

“No. You are not to be executed.”

“How? Banishment, then? Will they be kind to you and our sons? Will they allow you to stay in our home?”

“No, not banishment.” Loki looked up at Thor.

“Brother, I—“

“Father is at chambers with the council now. They seek punishment befitting a Prince of Asgard. They consider the possibility that you were misled, or did not know.”

“Lyn…” He gripped Sigyn’s hands tightly as she helped him to rise, noting the green suede thong crisscrossing the opening of Thor’s tunic and the sleepless look to him. “We have had our differences, but—“

Thor put a hand up. “We have had our differences, but I would not see you dead for this.” Unable to embrace him, Loki leaned his weight against Thor’s broad chest and found himself embraced in turn. They stood like that for a moment that felt like an eternity, Thor muttering _“Ki, be calm”_ and holding onto him as he trembled with relief. “You may be the Liesmith, but I do not trust Hodur.” His tone was light and Loki could not help but smile into the smooth fabric of the tunic over the bulk of Thor’s shoulder.

For all their differences, for all of their fights, for all of the resentment and betrayal that filled Loki up from the tips of his toes to the top of his head—Thor had come through for him. He would not die.

***

Loki watched as Melinda smoothed a bandage over the bridge of Barton’s nose. There were already little white plastic strips holding the gash at his jaw together. It seemed that his face and hands had sustained the most damage when the room had caved in around him.

“God, my fucking head is ringing.” He pressed the heel of his palm to his ear for what seemed like the thousandth time. Loki asked if something was wrong, if he had sustained some further injury. “I don’t know. Concussion, maybe? I don’t think so, though, I think it’s just because of the blast—concussive force against my eardrum or whatever. I should be fine. Happens all time in explosions when you don’t have any protective gear on. Should be fine, couple hours, maybe days. No big deal.” He shrugged and settled back against the couch, pulling Loki close and taking her hand. He placed it onto the icepack on his head. She muttered that he was a lazy ass. He grinned, “Nope, that’s my head, not my ass.” He leaned forward, holding her hand in place, “Thanks Melinda.” She nodded as she cleaned up the bandage scraps.

By the time Clint’s icepack grew warm and he allowed Loki to have her hand back, they had cleared Afghanistan’s airspace. Tony finally ditched the Iron Man suit and settled onto the couch opposite them. Melinda had long since departed in favor of assisting Natasha with interrogations. Coulson and Hill were hold up in his office, presumably speaking with Fury and the commanding officers from the unit Steve had been working with.

“Barton.”

“Ferguson.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Tony got up from his seat and very purposefully poured them each a glass of something. Loki didn’t bother to take note of which bottle he’d selected. “You’re going to need this.”

***

Clint wasn’t sure where the grenade came from. The only thing that he was sure of was that it had exploded as it flew through the window. Brick dust and debris rained down on top of him as the wall that separated the upper floor into two smaller rooms collapsed and he was covered with the fallen pieces. He just barely had time to cover his head as he pushed his rifle away to avoid an accidental shot hitting him if the trigger was jarred.

There was another explosion. It barely registered over the ringing in his head. Please don’t let them be dead. Please. If they were dead, it was his fault. He was supposed to be watching their six. If they were hurt…if they were dead…their blood was on his hands. The tac team. Stark. It was all his fault because he didn’t watch the other windows closely enough. He didn’t account for another sniper. Didn’t notice it if someone showed up in the midst of things.

“Stark? Stark! I can’t…” He tried to shift, to unbury himself, and only succeeded in making the heavy chunk of wall pin his legs more awkwardly. He made an agonized sound that he wasn’t sure was entirely human. “ _Help_.”

He tried to stay calm. He didn’t know if Stark had even heard him, he could barely hear himself. He laid there under the rubble, trying not to panic, hoping his legs and back weren’t too badly injured, that it was just the awkward and heavy press of the destroyed room on top of him that was so incredibly painful.

Just as his toes began to go numb, there was the pain of blood rushing back into his limbs. “ _Christ_ , think you could take any longer?” He turned over and rubbed his face. Iron Man was gesticulating wildly. “What?” Clint shook his head. “I can’t understand you.” His head. His ears. Still too much. The blast must have been too close, too loud. The faceplate slid up to reveal Tony within the suit. Clint focused on his lips.

“Cap’s hit. Bad. Are you broken?”

“Not too badly.” He wiggled his fingers and toes, bent his knees just to be sure. “Get me to the ground.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position as Tony yanked his sniper rifle out of the debris, miraculously as unscathed as he was. Clint cradled the gun to his chest as Tony hefted him into the air. He felt like an idiot, dangling as Tony gripped him under the arms, but at least he wasn’t being cradled like a baby like last time.

Tony placed him on the ground in an alley between two of the buildings, fairly close to where Steve had fallen. “I’ve got your back.” He settled down on his knee, bracing the gun against his shoulder. “Go help Cap.” He set his crosshairs on one of the enemy and fired.

***

“Medic! Medic!”

The gunfire had settled into the background in the same way that it did when he was fighting. The clashing. The popping. The thud of someone falling. The grunt as a bullet or a foot or a fist or a blade hit home. All background. All ambient. The clearest sounds were that of the solider crouched over him, shouting for assistance. Even the distinctive sounds of Stark’s blasters charging and firing were fading into the atmosphere.

It all died down. Had the battle stopped? Had they won? Did it matter?

Someone was touching him. People were murmuring. He thought there might be questions being directed toward him, but he no longer cared about answering them. He knew his lips were moving but wasn’t sure if the sounds that were coming out of them were actual words.

Steve felt increasingly like he was no longer within his own body. He was leaning heavily against the soldier crouched over him. His fingers were still gripping the laces of the boot near his face tightly. He had more grit in his mouth and nose than he really cared for. He couldn’t feel his legs and he didn’t think it was because of the awkward position he was in.

There was a metallic clank. “What’s the damage?” Stark.

“He’s been hit in the back. Not really coherent. Can’t tell if it’s blood loss or nerve damage or what.”

“Steve? Hey, Steve.” Soft clanking and shifting. The solider that had been protecting him, who was now supporting his body, thankfully did not move. He gripped the laces tighter just in case and opened his eyes. “Hey there, Spangles! How ya doin’ down there?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Am I supposed to take this opportunity to kick your ass or kiss it?”

“Very funny, Tony.” He was lying on his stomach so that he was face-to-face with Steve on the ground. Maybe he was being patronizing. Maybe he was being kind. Steve didn’t care. It was a familiar face as so it must mean that he was not, in fact, quite dead yet.

“Can you move?”

“Am I not moving?”

“Most decidedly not.”

“Then no.”

“Can you move anything?” He tested his shield arm.

“I think so.”

“Can you get up?”

“No.” Tony got up off the ground. There was murmuring that sounded far away. He’d said he wouldn’t set a foot down on Afghan soil again. But he had. And he’d done it for Steve. That counted for something, right? That meant Tony gave a damn about him, gave a damn about something more than proving he was right.

“There a bird close by? We have to get him out of here. If this is what I think it is, then he needs to get into surgery as soon as possible. A ride in the Jeep will be too bumpy and take entirely too much time.”

“Jarve?” There was a pause. Presumably JARVIS was hacking whatever military computer and communications systems were in the area. “Air Force has something in the air nearby. Unless by bird you mean Hawkeye. But I don’t think he’s gonna sprout actual wings any time soon. JARVIS will call in a mayday, but I don’t think they’re going to be able to land in here.”

“Captain Rogers?” The soldier’s voice was soft and soothing. His hand came down to cover Steve’s on his boot. “I’m going to need my foot back. Is that okay?” Steve responded by letting his fingers loosen and then moving them away. “Good. I’m going to move back now. We’re going to get you down onto your stomach. That sounds like it would be a little bit more comfortable. Is that okay?”

“Yeah.” The soldier moved slowly away from him, helping him to moved from the awkward position on his knees down onto his stomach. “I can’t feel my feet.”

“I know, Captain Rogers. I’m sorry. We’re doing our best.”

“We got a stretcher or something?”

“No.”

“I’ll carry him.” Tony’s silhouette started to bend down over him, arms out to pick him up like a sleeping child or a blushing bride. A new figure came into view as Steve stared up into the blindingly blue, cloudless sky out of the corner of his eye and placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Don’t. You’ll do more damage. We need something to stabilize him with.” Steve recognized Barton’s voice, speaking just a little too loudly. He felt like everyone was being entirely too careful with what they said, like they were afraid of alarming him. But the caution was only serving to make the panic rise.

“Shield.”

“What, Rogers?”

“Shield. Put me on the shield. Use it.”

“Fucking brilliant, Captain. Mind if we turn you?”

“Do what you need to.” They shuffled and moved and placed his shield as close to his body as they could get it. Steve couldn’t stop the scream that ripped up his throat and out of his lips as they worked to turn his body over onto the bowl of the shield as carefully as they could manage. They were all apologies as tears sprang to his eyes to wash away the grit and burn with salt. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Just do what you need to. It’s my own fault. I’m an idiot. I turned my back on them. I wasn’t careful. I’m an idiot.”

“Hey!” The woman who he’d come to realize was nearly as fearless and calculating as Natasha gripped his face in her hand and forced him to look at her. “You’re not an idiot. It was a cheap shot. You were doing your fucking job.”

There was a person on either side of him, gripping the leather handles of the shield and praying they didn’t snap under his weight. The solider who had shielded him, who Steve had guarded from the attack with the blade, was supporting his head and shoulders. Someone else was holding up his legs. He could see that they had their arms hooked under his knees but he didn’t seem to be able to feel it. Clint directed them through an alleyway and out into the open desert space around the village. Tony had taken off to catch up with whatever aircraft JARVIS had made contact with. The tac team held him up, not wanting to put him down on the ground and jostle him around more than necessary.

Steve’s head was beginning to swim in earnest. He didn’t know how long they stood there, waiting. But all of a sudden there was dust and wind, glorious even though the air was hot and dry. They were moving again. “You guys are lucky. I was actually coming back from a supply drop. You know I’m not a med-evac craft, right?”

“Don’t care. Need the transport now. Kind of an important guy.”

“Oh yeah?” A woman in a flight suit and helmet directed them in loading Steve onto the plane and securing him across the seats in the back. “How important? You got a name, buddy?” Steve tried to focus on the face hovering over him, the hands tucking something under his neck so his head didn’t loll around awkwardly. “You in there?”

“Yeah.” He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing through the pain that seemed to be gripping him bodily and the hazy fog that was settling over him. “Rogers. Captain Rogers.”

“Well, Rogers, I’m Major Danvers. But that’s so incredibly formal, don’t you think?” She was grinning at him. “So if you call me Carol, we’ll be cool. What should I call you?”

“Steve.”

“Alrighty, Steve.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “We gonna be in the air in just a minute. Hang tight, okay?”

“Can’t do much else.” The soldier who had protected him stayed with him as they took off. Steve placed his comm back into his ear; finally realizing it had fallen out at some point and was dangling inside his collar. Tony was babbling reassuringly in his ear as he flew alongside the plane. “Hey, Stark.”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Thanks.”

He wished he could just pass out, but the serum seemed to not be allowing him to do that. He was right on the edge of it, teetering, looking into the void. But blackness and quiet just refused to come. Steve was grateful when they rolled him into triage to begin evaluating him. They’d already gotten all the information they could possibly need from advance radios, but they seemed to need to see everything for themselves.

When they laid eyes on him, when it was announced whom he was, the medical team burst into a flurry of activity. His gear and clothing was cut away. He was rushed off to an operating room.  He was told to count backward. Finally, darkness came.

***

Onheil’s eyes were red and watery. Her mouth was turned down in an ugly grimace. “Mmm—“ She made a sound as if to say something and stopped. She looked away from Clint and drew in a ragged breath. He was always amazed at how quickly and violently her moods changed. Nothing subtle about it, even if she liked to think she was sly. He wondered for a moment if the therapist—what was his name? Cooper? He could never remember. He made it his personal mission to avoid the man like the plague—had identified some kind of bipolar issues in the time she spent being forced to chat with him.

“My Captain.” The hoarse whisper that came out of her was sad and angry and possessive. “I need to go to him. I cannot leave him behind. Not like this. Not when it is my fault.”

“Onheil, you can’t just—“

“Do not pretend to be able to tell me what I can and cannot do! You do not understand!” She’d gotten to her feet and the face she turned on him was truly frightening. His eyes flicked down to the dance of green around her fingers and up to the flickering lights above them. “You do not understand how this feels.”

“Don’t pretend to be the only one who feels like shit! I may not be fucking the guy, but that doesn’t make me feel any less horrible or responsible.” He stood up, putting himself in her space, forcing her to take a step back. “For someone…for someone who has such a superiority complex…you know nothing. You know nothing about anything!”

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way, Agent Barton.”

“So we’re back to that now.” Alright, fine, two could play at that game. “ _Agent Ferguson_ , have you never bothered to ask him—to ask anyone—how the Avengers got together? No? Then have a seat and listen.” He jabbed his index finger at her sternum and she narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to comply. “It was all Natasha. Fury sent her out on a mission. She brought us all together. She infiltrated Stark’s company, observed him, evaluated him, brought him in. She went to Calcutta to bring Bruce back—stared down that man who could so easily snap and brought him in without incident. Fury snagged Cap, but meeting Natasha made him stay on that hellicarrier. So ‘Tash brought the team together. But Steve…Steve fused it. Steve is the glue. Steve’s _trust_ is the fucking glue. He trusted Tony to be able to get the engines started after I’d destroyed them. Tony trusted him to be able to get him the hell out of the turbine before he got fucking shredded to bits. Steve trusted Bruce to be able to control the Other Guy and trusted the Other Guy to know when to let him come back. Bruce trusted Steve to know when Hulk was needed and Steve was probably the only person not to treat him like a living experiment or a side show freak.” Tony made an offended sound but didn’t object, he knew Clint was right. Tony’d spent the better part of the time before the battle trying to get Bruce to loose it just so that he could observe the aftermath. Everyone knew it. It hadn’t been malicious, but it certainly wasn’t the way someone treated a human being. “Steve trusted Natasha’s judgment and strength and intuition. ‘Tash trusted Steve to have her back and support her—something she rarely does, hardly even with me. And Steve trusted me—accepted me, utilized me—no questions asked, even after I’d been used like a puppet and made to do horrible things by a despicable person. His concern was for my own well being, not whether or not I was an enemy. And I trusted Steve to keep me safe and let me do what I had to. And you know what? He did.”

Onheil looked like she was about to devour him whole. “So you’re not the only one allowed to love him. You’re not the only one allowed to feel upset and betrayed and useless. You’re not the only allowed to feel like you’ve failed him. You’re not the only one allowed to feel like shit.” Her jaw tensed and her lips pressed out into a thin line. The hairs on the back of Clint’s neck stood up and his stomach flipped over. “You’re selfish and self centered and sometimes I don’t think you deserve him, Onheil.”

The next thing Clint knew, he was on the floor spitting out blood. His teeth had sliced into the side of his mouth when the back of her hand made contact with his face. Her boots thunked heavily against the floor as she stalked away, heading in the direction of the bunks. Clint got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Onheil, stop this.” She whirled around to face him, face flushed and breathing heavily—the picture of someone clinging to the last threads of control they had, the image of Clint himself on particularly bad days in those first weeks after his cognitive recalibration.

“Don’t you dare touch me. Don’t you dare think that you have any idea what I feel. I don’t care about your trust and your glue and your well-being. I care about Steve. That is it. That is the only thing that I care about.” Her voice was measured and even as she gripped the front of his shirt and backed him up against the wall. Her nose practically touched his. “He is the first person in any world to care for me unconditionally—regardless of who I am or what I can give them or what value I have to be used—don’t kid yourself in thinking you are my friend in any sort of pure manner in the way that he his my love.”

She held him there and he made no move to free himself as they breathed each other’s breath and her knuckles pressed into his chest. “I may be selfish. I may be self-centered. But I am allowed to _feel_ and I really don’t give a shit what you think.”

***

Barton wasn’t going to waver. She had to respect that at least. She hated him with every shred of her being in that moment. She hated him for pointing out what was worst about her. She hated him for prodding at it, for pulling it out into the open and waving it around like a flag.

“You want to do this? You want to solve your problems this way? You want to push people around because you don’t like yourself?” Clint drove her against the opposite wall. “Fine. We’ll do it. And in the end, you’ll hate yourself more and lose someone who actually gives a flying fuck about you.”

For what she was sure was the first time in her long life, Loki was the first to waver. “No. I don’t want to do this.” Her grip loosened. She closed her eyes, felt his forehead rest against hers, heard him murmur that that was good, he didn’t want to do this either. “I’m frightened, Clint.”

“We all are.”

Stark cleared his throat. Clint pulled away and moved back to the couch. He picked up a new instant ice pack, popped it, shook it, and held it to his cheek. He grimaced and pressed the heel of his palm to his ear _again_. Loki settled herself beside him and he placed his hand, warm and rough and grounding, on her knee.

“What about Thor?”

“What?”

“What about Thor? You do not count him as an Avenger?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Clint shrugged, “He’s more of a consultant.”

Hours later, Stark was pulling her aside. “Onheil, you don’t have to go back to SHIELD, you know. You gave your mission report to Hill. They’re not going to be crazy over getting anything written.”

“I am not going back to SHIELD.”

“I can’t let you go home alone either, not when you’re this stressed out. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. If I’ve learned anything since that fucking alien invasion, it’s that a person shouldn’t hold all that shit in and close themselves off.”

“I am not going home alone. I am going back to Clint’s loft.”

Stark nodded, “Can’t really let you do that either.”

“And why not? Is this not a free country? Am I not an autonomous adult?”

“Because the two of you are going to do something really fucking stupid if you spend the night together with your emotions and stress and all of that running so high. You’re going to regret it. I’ve done enough stupid things in my life to know that, too.”

“I have done my fair share of stupid things that I regret. I can assure you, Clint and I will not be doing anything we will regret…as if that is any of your business in any case.’ She raised a brow at him and crossed her arms. Both her own and Steve’s overnight bags from the loft were slung over her shoulder as they waited to disembark the craft.

“Come back to the Tower with me.”

“No.”

“I insist.”

“No, Tony.”

“You’re going to make me call in the Calvary, aren’t you?” Melinda made an offended sound. “Not you.” She nodded approval.

“Then who?”

He fished his phone out of his pocket and jabbed at an icon. He put the call on speaker. “Tony? Is everything okay?” Pepper’s voice came out of the device. He assured her that he was fine, that they were on their way home. “Then what’s wrong? You’re using your _I know I’m going to get in trouble, but I’m going to do the thing anyway_ voice.” He explained that Steve had been injured and that he wanted Loki—Onheil—to come back to the Tower rather than stay at SHIELD or go home alone. “Oh my gosh. Is it serious?” They didn’t know yet. “Onheil, you have to come stay with us. I insist. We’ll call up Rhodey. He’ll know what to do. I’m making mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes fix everything. It’s settled.”

“There you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go. Loki calls Sigyn "my beloved" and Thor "lightening." The bit about Loki and Sigyn living away from the palace in the main city was inspired by this map from the comics:
> 
>  
> 
> I absolutely took "ada" from Tolkien and fadir/modir are evidently father/mother in Old Norse if my resources are to be trusted.
> 
> We had a little cameo from Carol and the Loki/Clint scene was _almost_ how I'd originally planned it. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it is what it is. We shall have to see what happens next. I don't think Loki likes being called out like that.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	72. Always You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony harasses Loki. Clint seeks comfort. Steve struggles to hold on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 6/18/14: Minor non-English dialogue clarification.

“You can’t say ‘no’ to Pepper, Onheil.” Tony followed her as she made her way through SHIELD headquarters.

“Yes, I can, Mr. Stark.”

“No, you can’t Miss Ferguson.”

“I don’t understand why you insist on meddling in my business.”

“It’s my job.”

“No, you don’t have a job. You are no longer involved with the business of your own company. You tinker in your laboratory for amusement. You fly around and shoot things with your repulsors to make yourself feel important.” She paused before she reached Drew’s wet lab. “No, actually I’m wrong. Your job is to see how annoying it is humanly possible to act before someone decides to knock the smirk off your face permanently.”

“Onheil, I’m trying to help.”

“Well, you are not helping. I am not a child, Mr. Stark. I do not need anyone to hold my hand.” She slipped through the door and let it close in his face as he was opening his gigantic mouth to voice additional unwanted and unwarranted opinions.

“Onheil!” Drew looked up from what she was working on and grinned. Loki felt some of the weight slide off of her shoulders at the familiar sight of black fingerprint powder smeared across the scientist’s forehead and smudging the mask she wore as if she’d been adjusting it with her dirty, gloved hands. She pinched the mask then and slid it down off her face. “You’re certainly back sooner than anticipated. Word around the water cooler was that you guys wouldn’t be back for at least a week.” She frowned when Loki did not respond. “You look like hell. What happened?”

“I—“

“What were you arguing with Stark about?”

“He—“ Loki wanted to tell her everything, but couldn’t decide where to start. “Is that someone’s finger?” She finally noticed the rotten smell in the room.

Drew glanced down at the tongs in her hand and the discolored digit grasped between them. “Yep. Give me a minute.” She jerked her chin toward the door that led into her office as she pushed the mask back up over her face and dropped the finger back into the specimen jar it presumably came out of.

Drew ditched her lab coat when she came into the room. “You’ve got a bit of something,” Loki pointed to the spot on her own forehead, “Just there.”

Drew rolled her eyes and shook her head. “What’s wrong?”

“Steve.”

“Yes, I do agree that Steve is what’s wrong.”

Loki pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “That’s not what I mean…and I thought we’d moved past this?” Drew huffed. “In the field. He…he’s been injured. And they left him behind.”

“Oh my gosh.” She wrapped her arms around Loki and squeezed amiably. “I’m so sorry. He can actually get hurt? Like, badly? I know you broke his nose, but more seriously than that?” Loki nodded and explained what had happened. "But he’s being taken care of, at least, right?” She nodded again. Drew held her at arms length and looked over her critically. “That’s not the only thing, though, is it?”

Loki barked out a laugh. “You’ll see soon enough when they get shipped home.” The comment earned her a perplexed cock of the head. Loki rattled off the names of the three agents who had been killed. “Dead. And it’s my fault. I led them in there.”

Drew screwed up her face in anger, “It’s not your fault, Onheil. Agents die in the line of duty all the time. More often than they should, lately. I’ve confirmed more ID’s in the past year than I really care to count. And when Barton got hijacked? That…that was a bad week.” She pursed her lips and chewed the inside of her cheek, mulling over something. “Who was supposed to be watching your backs?” Loki told her. “Then if blame is to be placed anywhere, it should be with Agent Ward.” She seemed to deflate. “I really liked Sixsmith.” She had been one of the three. “She was funny. Graduated from the academy around the same time SHIELD recruited me.” Drew stared down at the floor for a long moment. “Are you going to be okay?”

Loki shrugged, feeling on the edge of hysterics. Drew approached her, putting her arms out hesitantly. Loki put her hands up to ward the embrace away. “Please don’t.” Drew nodded and shoved her hands into her pockets.

“I’ve got to finish reconditioning that finger. The other three are too far gone to get a good print.” She moved back through to the wet lab, slipping her dingy white coat back on as she went.

“Onheil.” Loki looked up to see Coulson standing in the wet lab.

“Agent Coulson.”

He sighed heavily. “Are you okay?”

Loki closed her eyes and took a breath before answering. “I am fine. I apologize for my earlier behavior. It was childish.”

“It’s alright. I probably would have reacted the same way in your shoes. If someone I cared that deeply about was hurt.” His eyes flicked to Drew, barely perceptibly. “But you have to understand—“

“Agent Coulson… _Phil_ …I realize I am not the only one who cares for him or who is disturbed by this. I understand that I was selfish and rude. I understand. Believe me. But now, I really would just like to go home. I believe Agent Barton is waiting for me.”

Coulson nodded, accepting the dismissal. He looked far older than he was, weary, conflicted. Drew smiled weakly and squeezed her shoulder as she slipped by. “I think Stark is waiting for you out in the hall. He’s muttering about aliens.”

Stark was indeed waiting. “Pepper had the guest suite on the main living floor made up for you.”

“I’m not going with you, Tony. Please apologize to Pepper for me. Did you see where Clint went?”

“Onheil, please. Rhodey’s already working on trying to find someone who will give up some information. Pepper is mashing every potato in Manhattan. Even JARVIS is asking after you.” Loki moved toward the elevators that would take her to the medical wing, hoping that Barton would be there getting his head evaluated. The ringing that he was complaining of troubled her. Stark followed.

“Stop it!” Clint was shouting at someone. “I’m not going in there! I don’t need to be checked out. I’m fine!” Loki peeked around the corner from the elevator bank. Clint was swiftly moving down the hall, Romanov on his heels.

“Clint, you need to have your head looked at. You should feel better by now. I shouldn’t have to shout at you to have you understand me. You shouldn’t need to read my lips.” She seized his wrist and he snatched his arm back out of her grasp.

The Hawk cupped the Spider’s head in his hands, drawing her close. His nose slid against hers. Lips brushed.  She gripped his forearms and closed her eyes. “This isn’t the kind of lip reading I was talking about.”

“Natashka,”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“YA prosto khochu vernut’sya domoy.” Clint pulled back, fingers rubbing circles at the back of her neck. “ _Pozhaluysta._ ”

“Bozhe moy.”

Loki edged back toward the elevator, “What was that about a guest suite?” She rolled her eyes at the smug look on his face. Later, after plenty of stalling and generally agitating him for the simple enjoyment of it, Loki followed Tony out the front doors toward the waiting car. She turned toward Stark, “His bike.” Happy took the bags from her shoulder and put them into the trunk. Tony walked around to the driver’s side and said it would be taken care of. When they arrived at Stark Tower, Steve’s motorcycle was already sitting in the garage, helmets on a shelf nearby.

***

Clint drowned out Natasha’s concern by cranking the volume of the radio up as loud as she would tolerate it, the upper threshold of her humoring him indicated by the subtle crinkle of her nose. There was very little traffic as they headed over the bridge into Brooklyn and through the borough toward Clint’s loft.

Lucky greeted them happily enough and then retreated to the couch when he realized neither of them came bearing pizza. Clint tossed his keys down on the counter while Natasha hung their coats on the peg near the door. “Coffee?” He knew he was still speaking just slightly too loudly. The ringing had finally stopped, but everything sounded as if he was under water or behind thick glass. He didn’t wait for an answer. There was never a time when coffee was not appropriate and right then he was sure that if he didn’t get some soon, he may, in fact, go completely insane. Contributing factor number one being the fact that his face itched like hell with nearly a day of growth and he couldn’t scratch it without hurting himself.

He leaned back against the counter while he waited for the pot to brew. Natasha took a couple of mugs out of the dishwasher and set them down beside him. “Melinda told me about what happened with Onheil.” She folded her arms and cross her ankles. “When Coulson told her about Cap.”

Clint rubbed the back of his head and sighed, “Yeah. She kind of took it hard.” He gripped his hair, feeling the rub of grit and dust against his scalp. Coffee. Then a shower. Then bed. Possibly cuddling if Natasha would let him. He just wanted to hold onto something. Someone. Real. Solid. Warm. Comforting. He wanted to crawl into bed and not leave for several days. Maybe a week. He had enough protein bars upstairs to reasonably survive. He could absolutely bring the coffee pot up too. He could unplug the TV to work it. There was a perfectly functional sink in the bathroom. Yup. Crawling into bed and not leaving for a week was absolutely workable.

“ _Clint_.”

“What? Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Christ, Barton, please go to medical tomorrow. Get your hearing checked. I said: You need to be careful.”

“Careful about what?”

“Onheil.”

“’Tash, please don’t start this again.”

“Clint, you know I’m right. She’s…” Natasha paused, searching for words. “Dangerous. I can feel it.”

“Somehow I think Bruce had the right idea. Calcutta sounds pretty nice right about now. Maybe Greece. I hear they take their coffee pretty seriously. Rent a cottage. Somewhere by the ocean where people can’t tell me who I should be careful around.”

“I’m just trying to look out for your best interest. You haven’t…you haven’t been well. You haven’t been right.”

“I’ve never felt fucking better.”

“Which is concerning.”

Clint pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes and made an aggravated sound. “Natasha, _please_. Why can’t you trust me to take care of myself?” When he looked at her again her lips were pursed. The coffee maker was gurgling, the scent of the hot brew started to fill the air. It relaxed him the tiniest bit. He dropped his arms completely. “Could you…could you just come here?” Natasha narrowed her eyes but complied and allowed herself to be embraced. He held onto her and rested his chin atop her head. “She’s my friend, ‘Tash. I don’t have a whole ‘lot of those. It’s just nice to have a friend.” If she objected, which he was sure she did, she’d didn’t voice it. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

Natasha pulled away and looked up at him. “Maria told me. It’s not your fault, Clint. Don’t do that to yourself.” He opened his mouth to object. “It’s not. He knew the risks. He’s a soldier. And he understands better than most that he takes his life into his hands every time he goes on a mission. He wouldn’t say it was your fault any more than he would say it was Ferguson’s.” She smirked. “And you _know_ he wouldn’t say it was her fault.”

“Mhm.” She sighed and relaxed into him again, circling his waist with her arms. He winced and hissed when she shifted. “Sorry. Not you. I think I bruised a few ribs.” She angled her face upward and planted light kisses in the hollow at the junction of ear and jaw. Clint couldn’t help but groan appreciatively. She knew all the right places, discovered some he hadn’t known he had. She let him explore and feel and be felt. She let him screw and fuck and be screwed and fucked. She let him make love. She let him be. She understood. “’Tash.” She pulled away to look at him, brow raised. “I care about you. You know that, right?” She smiled softly. She never really gave him an answer when he said things like that. He didn’t think that she ever would. But, he could be content knowing that somewhere behind her guarded façade that she probably did feel similarly.

Instead of answering with her voice, she answered with her lips. She kissed him gently, opening his mouth with hers, tugging at his bottom lip as she tugged him across the kitchen until her back was against the wall. “Clint.”

“Yeah.” He was panting. He couldn’t be sure if it was from the rush of adrenaline he got whenever Natasha allowed him to get this close or because her fingers were ghosting over the cut on his jaw and it hurt like all fucking hell.

“Are you still here?” He realized how rigid his body had gotten, how her eyes searched his face. Every so often, when the voices and the static got too loud, when he couldn’t quiet them, he’d retreat to some space in his head.

“Yeah.” He pressed into her like she would melt into the wall and kissed her with renewed enthusiasm. He ran his hands down her sides, kneading and grabbing and caressing, and brought her leg up to his waist. Natasha pressed herself down, grinding herself against his upper thigh and worrying at the skin just above the collar of his shirt.  She pulled away for the briefest of moments. “Lift me.” Clint couldn’t help the jolt that went through him—remembering another woman, fevered words, the whisper of silk.

“ _Fuck_.” He slipped his hands around her body and lifted her. Her thighs held fast around him. Thighs that could kill. Thighs that made him weep. Thighs that were hard and soft and the perfect pillow for his head when they were curled up together on the couch watching some mindless, low-budget indie flick. She carded her fingers through his hair and he knew she was checking for lumps and bumps and abrasions. He winced as she cupped his face and she ran her thumb over the subtle purpling where Onheil had slapped him. She looked him squarely in the eye, giving away nothing and everything. “Menya ili yeye?”

“You.” He leaned in and slipped his nose against hers, luxuriating in the feel of her skin and her eyelashes against his cheek. “Always you.” She made a small noise, somewhere in the back of her throat. That was it; that was all he needed.

Clint turned carefully, supporting Natasha’s body on sore arms and aching legs and knowing full well she could hold herself up without him, and placed her down on the edge of the counter. Lucky barked, annoyed at the sound of her shoes clunking to the floor as she toed them off. “Hush, you.” Natasha’s hands were roaming everywhere, carefully feeling and kneading. She frowned at him when he stripped the shirt off, poking almost spitefully at the bruises on his torso and pulling a choked sound from his throat when she fingered his ribcage. “I knew I should have made you stay in medical.”

“I didn’t want to. I just wanted to come home. Shower in my own bathroom. Hug my dog. Sleep in my own bed.” He returned his focus to the task of unbuckling her belt and opening her fly.

“Then I’m interrupting. I’ll come back in the morning.”

“Like hell you will.” He gripped her hips to slide her backward on the counter, succeeding in knocking the two mugs she’d set out to the floor where they shattered. Lucky barked and huffed and scooted up the stairs. She chuckled and lay back against the cool surface of the counter. Clint yanked the tail of her blouse free and leaned forward to run his tongue over the sliver of flesh he exposed before hooking his fingers into the waist of her pants and underwear and pulling them off. Her back arched and the taut muscles of her stomach fluttered prettily as he moved his cheek over her thighs. _Godfuckingdamnit_ he loved those thighs. He pressed kisses to her warm skin, smirking at the way her neatly cropped red hair glistened with her arousal in the dim overhead light. “ _Clint_.”

He loved the way his name sounded that way.

Listening to the sounds she made—soft, quiet, controlled—feeling the muscles in her legs tense and relax as he licked a slow stripe over her lips, as the air he huffed out to avoid laughing when her hair tickled his face made her gasp, as her legs pressed close to hold him in place when he pursed his lips and _sucked_ —it was enough. The friction in his jeans and the adrenaline he still felt long after a mission were enough.

He gathered Natasha into his arms and stumbled into the living room, trying to make it to the couch and failing. She laughed openly when they wound up in a tangle of limbs on the floor. He loved that laugh. He wished more people heard it. He wished more people knew how beautiful and open her face was when she laughed, how she sounded like music. Clint groaned when she palmed his erection through his jeans.

Natasha worked at the buttons on her blouse while Clint knelt upright to unfasten his belt and jeans. He didn’t have the patience and his legs were shaking too hard to bother to stand and take everything off. Unceremoniously, he pushed his pants and underwear down on his hips to free himself from the uncomfortable constriction.

Clint hooked an arm under Natasha’s knee as he leaned back down to her and worried at the swell of her breast as he pushed in. He could feel the vibration of her groan against his cheek.

There was nothing slow or gentle after that. There was nothing subtle about the way Natasha tightened her legs around his back and waist. There was nothing sensuous about the way Clint’s hips snapped and rolled and even less how Natasha’s came to meet him. There was nothing tender about kisses that were more like snarls and bites. There was nothing quiet about the way Natasha keened as she came over the found of the floor squeaking.

Clint tried to focus on the sensation of the bead of sweat rolling down his spine, tried to ride out her orgasm, tried not to be undone by the clench of her muscles or the warmth of her or the slickness of her. His body snapped tight, his motions became jerky and unsteady.

Clint lowered himself as gingerly as he could. His head on her chest. The erratic thump of her heart against his cheek. The wetness on his face not just sweat. He clung to her as he softened. His back heaved with the effort of breathing. Her legs slowly unwound and eased down on either side of him.

He was too drained to move. Too exhausted. Too bent. Too broken.

“Just you. Always you.”

***

Loki was only slightly startled when Stark’s invisible assistant greeted her upon entering the private elevator that led to the residential floors of the Tower, “Good evening, Miss Ferguson—or shall I call you Agent Ferguson?”

“Onheil is fine, JARVIS, thank you.”

“It’s been quite a while since your last visit. I trust that everything is quite alright.”

“J, don’t play stupid.”

“Of course, Sir, that’s your job. I was merely attempting to be amiable.” Loki couldn’t help but snicker at the way the digital being—supposedly programmed _entirely_ by Stark—seemed to have truly come into his own since last she had visited the tower. She wondered briefly if this had been an evolution over time. She resolved to ask Steve about it when he came home. She had a lot she wanted to ask Steve about when he came home. “Ms. Potts is in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, Jarve.”

Pepper was all concern and warmth and sympathy. Loki could barely tolerate it. She was at the point in her grief where she was simply angry. At Steve. The shooter. Clint. Tony. The tac team. Coulson and Hill. Fury. HYDRA or whoever it was that they were fighting. She smoothed her face into the old mask, just barely cracking at the edges as Tony watched her closely as Pepper embraced her. “Might I have a shower, first? I just…there was so much blood and I—“

“Absolutely. Of course. Don’t be silly.” She waved a dismissive hand at the oven and said that the shepard’s pie she’d made, deeming it the best comfort food for the situation—filling, full of protein and carbs, comforting—still had a few minutes yet to cook. “JARVIS will show you to the guest suite.”

Loki plastered a weary smile across her face and thanked Pepper. She appreciated the thoughtfulness and concern. She really did. It was just too much. She didn’t want to process any of this. She wanted to wake up from this nightmare. She wanted Steve’s big, hot hand on her shoulder or her hip, shaking her awake and asking her to please not pull his hair so tight. She wanted him to pull her fur up around the two of them and pull her close and tell her it was all in her head and everything was okay. She didn’t want the precarious little life she’d built to fall apart. She wasn’t sure she could continue doing all of this if she didn’t have Steve. She would have to leave. Start over again elsewhere. Come up with a new name. Possibly wear a new face. Or an old face that she had put away.

_“I miss the old Loki. I miss my jolly fire sprite,” Sigyn had said. “I miss the flames about your face and the indigo on your fingertips. I miss the soot on your cheeks and the leaves in your hair.”_

_“You did not know me then. And you were but a child.”_

_“Ah, but I did. It was you that did not know me.” She grinned at him, “You know nothing, my Lopt, my air.”_

_“I’ve put that mask away. I am sorry if this one is so displeasing to you.”_

_“Not displeasing in the least. Simply more serious at times than I would like.”_

Loki sat on the edge of the tub and carefully unwove the complicated braids she’d morphed her hair into what seemed like weeks ago at this point. She became a fluffy, unruly mess bit-by-bit and relished in the sensation of blood rushing back into her scalp.

The shower did little more to relax her. She rifled through Steve’s bag when she was finished, wet hair tied up in a knot on the back of her head. She grinned at the gloriously oversized tee shirt she found near the bottom. She had given it to him as a joke some time ago. Ages ago. He said it was silly and that he had never attended the military academy. She had told him it was a matter of pride and loyalty. He wore it to bed.

She appeared in the dining room, enveloped in the smell of gravy and potato, with “GO ARMY BEAT NAVY” emblazoned across her chest, a fierce looking caped knight in the middle of the text.

“Dear God. You’re doing the wear-my-boyfriend’s-tee-shirt thing.”

“Indeed I am, Stark.”

Pepper rolled her eyes as she placed a dish down in front of Loki. “It’s sweet. And I’m sure it’s comforting. Ignore him.” She sat down and crinkled her nose. “I’m just glad you’re here. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone.” Loki thanked her for her kindness.

“It’s truly not necessary.”

“It is. I’ve already spoken to Rhodey. He’s Air Force, but he’s a Colonel and sort of a celebrity in his own right. He knows people—“

“He’s friendly with just about everyone. He’s kind of hard not to like. Politicians should cross the isle with the ease that man makes friends in every branch.”

“He should be able to find _something_ out, even if it’s not specifics.”

Rhodey did better than find something out. Later that night, when the odd trio was well stuffed and quiet in front of the fireplace, JARVIS announced that Colonel Rhodes was attempting to connect via Skype.

“Hi, guys.”

“Rhodey. What have you got for me?” Stark leaned forward with interest at the hologram JARVIS was projecting of the man who was sometimes Iron Patriot.

Rhodes gave him a serious look, “Ferguson, I’m really sorry. If I had imagined you’d get tangled up in this shit—had I imagined the two of you getting put in a situation like this—I wouldn’t have been so enthusiastic about somebody recruiting you.”

“It’s quite alright, Colonel—“

“Rhodey.”

“Rhodey. I’ve rather enjoyed my time with SHIELD to this point, all things considered.” She chewed her lip and tucked her legs beneath herself. “You’ve found something out?”

“Yeah. I made a few calls, did some digging, promised Iron Patriot appearances at a few kid parties…but I found nothing in terms of information.” Loki’s heart thundered in her ears. Why tease her with the hope of information when there was none? “I did find something a little better than information, though. I found Sergeant Barnes.”

“ _What_?” She couldn’t help the incredulous tone. The man who had been Steve’s friend was long dead.

“Yeah, no, not that one. I know exactly what you’re thinking. Kid on the tac team. Steve pulled him out of the way from an attack, kid shielded him when he went down.”

Tony’s head was cocked to the side, “The one who rode with him?”

“The same. Sat in triage and refused to leave until they assured him that Cap was out of surgery and in recovery.”

“So what did he have to say?”

“Haven’t heard yet. Waiting for him to get off duty and sign on. He’s going to join the Skype chat any minute now.”

A few moments later, JARVIS was projecting a much grainer image of a young gentleman beside Rhodey. His dark hair was cropped incredibly short, the shadow his pronounced brow created across his face in the poor lighting made him look stormy aside from his obvious weariness. “Hello Colonel Rhodes,” he saluted toward his screen, obviously looking at the image of Rhodey. “Agent Ferguson, ma’am, Mr. Stark.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry.” Loki swallowed hard, preparing herself for the worst. “I can’t help but feel at least partly at fault for all of this. He got surrounded, separated. I didn’t even notice until it had already happened. I was too focused on the guys I was dealing with.”

“Nonsense, Sergeant Barnes.” Loki kept her tone soft; spoke slowly to keep herself steady. “You protected him when he was hurt. That counts for more than you can imagine. But please, just tell me how he is?”

“Uh, yeah. Ah. Well, Major Danvers flew him right over to the hospital. Certainly made a scene with her craft rather than a med-evac showing up. When I said who he was everyone jumped to it immediately. Both the Major and Mr. Stark had radioed ahead. By the time we got there he’d already sort of passed out, or was pretty loopy at least. They asked me a lot of questions. They were really concerned about how we had moved him, but there really wasn’t much other option. He had to get him out of there, especially with the possibility of an enemy sniper still on the loose. And he’d already said a few times that he couldn’t feel his legs or move before we turned him over and loaded him onto the shield.” He rubbed his hands over his face and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “They kept trying to send me back to base, but I called my commanding officer and she said it was fine. They could really argue with me after that. I just didn’t want to leave him. I didn’t want him to wake up alone.” He looked conflicted. “He’s one of the reasons I’m in. Grandpop was in the war. He was RAF. Was on a few missions where the Captain was involved. Really respected the guy. Came to the States in the fifties with Gram, tired of looking at bombed out buildings. I grew up hearing stories about him, reading Grandpop’s comics. Have a few of those old collector cards back home. I—“

“Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the sentiments. I’m sure Steve will as well. But, please…”

“Right. Sorry, ma’am.” He took a breath and gathered himself back up again. “They wouldn’t really tell me anything. I’m not his commanding officer and I’m nowhere near next of kin. But I tried to listen to whatever was said when the docs or nurses came in and out. They opened ‘im up and dug the bullet out. There was something about ceramic fragments. To me, it sounds like faulty safety gear. Too much of that going on. Fuckin’ cheap asses sending us shit and getting us killed…” No one scolded him for his language. Tony mumbled something to JARVIS who responded quietly in his usual polite manner. “They were havin’ a rough go of it. The anesthesia wasn’t keeping him down. Seemed like forever, but they finally came out and told me I could see him in recovery.”

“So he’s alright?”

“Yes and no, ma’am. But I’m not a doctor; I don’t want to tell you something that isn’t true. Anyway, I went in to see him, to tell him thank you, to tell him I was sorry I didn’t catch ‘im like he caught me. They had him on a bunch of drugs. He was sort of zonked out, but you could still tell he was in pain. He kinda grinned at me and said we better get the bastards before the docs chased me out. I wish I had more to tell you, but that’s all I got. I had to report back for duty and give my mission reports.”

“It’s alright, Sergeant. Thank you, very much.”

“I’ve got to go. There’s other guys waiting for the computer. Monty’s girl just finished kindergarten, he—“

“Thank you. Do what you need to.”

“Yes, ma’am. It was a pleasure to speak to you, Colonel. Mr. Stark…” He seemed to notice Pepper for the first time. She smiled and told him her name. “Ms. Potts.” He moved as if to end the video link and paused. “Agent Ferguson? Would you…I don’t know. Send me a letter or somethin’? When he gets home?”

“Of course. Thank you again.” With that, he signed off.

Loki could feel her chin quivering. She was trying to keep it under control. She had to keep it under control. She refused to allow Stark see her this way. “I’ll see what more I can find out, may not be much, honestly. If he made it through to recovery, he’ll probably be transferred over to Landstuhl as soon as they think he’s on the mend. My thought is that the serum will heal him up now that there’s no foreign bodies and the wound’s been treated. Not sure what’ll happen after Landstuhl. If they’re keeping things on the down-low, maybe Walter Reed and then a discharge from there. I really don’t know. I would have expected SHIELD to step in and clean this mess up.”

Pepper’s warm hand settled gently on Loki’s knee. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks. No, SHIELD wouldn’t step in. They were throwing him into the void.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything new or come up with a contact for you. ‘Night, guys.” The projection ended.

“I do not mean to be rude, but might I be excused? I think that I’d like to go to bed.” Pepper squeezed her knee and said that of course she could, she didn’t need to ask.

Sleep proved evasive. Loki could not stop herself from thinking about the way her world was crumbling around her. She had been so careful. She had planned things so meticulously. When had she gotten in this deep? She couldn’t get comfortable. The mattress was too firm, pillows refusing to conform to her usual nest. She wanted her fur. Faux as it was, it was comforting. She wanted more than any of that the comfort of a warm body beside her. Someone to hold or be held by. She wasn’t sure if she was thinking of Steve. She just needed someone. Anyone. Sigyn. Clint. Glut. She wanted to lie in the soft hay in the stable beside her son and listen to his thundering heart and soft sleeping snuffles. She wanted to unleash Fenrir and Jormungandr upon the whole of HYDRA. She wanted to watch Lukin and Rumlow be ripped to shreds and scattered to the wind. She wanted the man with the metal arm breathless and pale beneath her boot for distracting her. She wanted out of this room. This cavernous room with its lack of hearth and glossy windows looking out onto the too bright and starless night. This room that left her feeling small and cold and alone.

“JARVIS, are you awake?”

“Yes, Onheil.”

“May I trouble you to direct me to a more open space? Is there a deck I might sit on? The roof, possibly?” She knew very well that she could get outside to the area Stark landed his suits on, that just didn’t fit the illusion.

“No trouble at all, Onheil. The roof is not generally accessible but I don’t see Mr. Stark having a problem with you sitting out on the landing deck.” The disembodied voice led her through the darkened house and outside. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, thank you JARVIS.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Loki sat for some time at the edge of the landing pad, one leg dangling over the edge, the other bent to rest her chin upon her knee. She did not particularly like this city. Perhaps when she started over—after she was sure that Steve was home and safe—she would find a place in the country where there was less grit in the air, fewer lights, more space. Someplace more like the woods and glens of her youth. Someplace she could hunt. Swing from branches. Lie in the basket of a tree’s canopy. Roll through the dry leaves of the underbrush. Someplace she could build fires just to look at them, to watch the flames dance until the light felt etched onto the back of her scull.

She would start over once Steve was safe. She would leave. All of this. Him. Just walk away from all of it. It would be easy.

The familiar squawk of the magpie met her ear. She cringed. Where Hel was concerned, no news meant good news. Though, perhaps there was something glorious to report—like Thor coming to his senses and releasing Hel to resume her rule. The message was short and unsigned, clearly written in haste.

_Sigyn knows._

***

Hel stood on the balcony of her guest-suite-turned-prison. She wondered for a moment, what her father was doing—if he was happy, if he had found someone to care for him, if he would ever return home. It did not matter, in the long run. It was not as if they had ever had a particularly close relationship. He was always distant. Always somewhat aloof. Always just slightly cold. But she knew that he loved her and she loved him for it. She had been resentful and angry her entire childhood and most of her adolescence. But when Narfi and Vali had made their way to her, she had realized that there was more to life than holding onto anger. She let go of it and found space for affection.

She wondered in passing if she could simply send a projection to Midgard. Her astral selves were very strong and solid. She could cast them far and wide. It was a necessary talent when ruling a kingdom that had become vast and overpopulated, especially in recent centuries. She had projected onto Jotunheim, into Helheim, into Alfheim where she had allies. No fruits had come of her labors. None had news of an impending Ragnarok. Nor had any of them been able to persuade Thor away from his current destructive course of rule and battle preparation.

Hel had ceased to be rageful or angry. She was now only disappointed.

The heavy door of her chamber creaked open and shut carefully. Perhaps this was her least favorite not-uncle come to quiz her once again. Perhaps he had finally learned to tread lightly rather than storming into the room like a mad bull. She refused to turn around. She would make him come to her. Hel was only slightly surprised to find it was not Thor at all; the voice that spoke was raw and feminine.

“Where is he? I know he lives. I can feel it. I demand to know where my husband has fallen to. My Lopt.”

Hel’s lips curled into a cruel smile and she lounged more casually against the stone railings. “He is no more your husband than he is my lover.”

“How dare you speak to me in such a manner—I, a Princess of Asg—“

“Do not fool yourself, Sigyn. You are no more princess than I am Allmother. In truth, you are bold to dare speak to me, Queen of Helheim, in such a manner.” She turned slowly, revealing the gleaming white bone before the fleshy features. She was satisfied with Sigyn’s flinch. “Some princess you make. Locked away in a castle gifted to you to get rid of you. Sulking in the halls. Ghosting about the bedchamber. Longing for a love you’re not sure you ever had. Shall I send your regards to the Lokasons?”

“You are cruel.” Sigyn’s lip turned up into a snarl. “For someone who wasn’t raised by him, you certainly inherited his finest attributes.” Hel folded her hands behind her back, let her most polite smile settle onto her face. Sigyn was thinner than she remembered. That honey-colored hair had lost some of its luster. Her eyes looked wider, more frightened than doe-like. She was, at least, keeping up appearances. She still had the same regal posture. Still wore her hair the same way. Still wrapped herself in soft hides and furs and rough but elegant woolen gowns. She wasn’t like the rest of the Aesir women, that was for certain, any more than Hel was. She thought that somewhere there was still the woman that her father had fallen so utterly in love with. She thought that somewhere there may be an ally, even if it was only in Loki’s interest and not her own.

“I have inherited his finest parts, haven’t I?” She crossed from the balcony to the chaise near the hearth. With a flick of her wrist the kindling began to burn, setting a soft glow into the largely darkened room. She knew the effect the lighting had on her visage. It was a well-rehearsed trick. “So what have you come for, Sigyn? To simply be rude? Or to propose something constructive.”

“I know he lives. I feel it.”

“Yes, you have already made that point.”

“Tell him to come home.”

“I will not. I know not where he is.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but enough. Something Loki had taught her. The most effective lies came with a shred of truth. Just enough to create doubt. She could not tell Loki to come home. She was sure he would be imprisoned or executed. She could not allow that.

Sigyn’s jaw fell into a hard line. “Tell him.” With that, she turned on her heel and swept from the room.

Hel slipped her hand into the pocket of her trousers and fingered the bit of paper with the drop of dried blood, feeling the life and magic infused in the fibers as she crossed the room back toward the balcony. The magpie landed softly on the ledge.

***

Would Sigyn take her knowledge to Thor? Loki didn’t think so, but she didn’t know Sigyn as she once did. She simply had to trust Hel’s judgment and capabilities. And if Thor got too close…well, she could leave. He would hunt her, but she could be a step ahead.

Being outside, sitting on the edge of the Tower in the still night air felt too exposed.

“JARVIS?”

“Yes?” The voice sounded slightly far away, lost in the open expanse high above the city.

“Where is Mr. Stark?”

“He is currently working in his private R&D laboratory and has asked to not be disturbed.”

“Can you take me to him anyway?”

“One moment, please.” Loki moved back inside, skirting the edge of the bar area that had previously held a wicked intent of her body. “Onheil, it would seem that Sir has hit a metaphoric brick wall. I do think he could benefit from some disruption.” The voice directed her toward the laboratory.

Loki stood outside the glass doors of the lab observing Stark as he hunched over what appeared to be the arm of one of his suits. The door opened seemingly of its own accord and Loki stepped inside, moving toward the workbench. She took the liberty to brush some small scrap-looking pieces aside to hop up and take a seat. “You shouldn’t lurk like that. It’s creepy. And I told JARVIS that I’m not to be disturbed.”

“Sir, I believed you could use a break. You’ve not stopped for hydration or rest in several hours. Agent Ferguson was unable to sleep and inquired after you.”

“Unable to sleep, huh?” Small sparks flew as he finished soldering a tiny connection point. “Been there.” He placed the iron down and wiped his hands on the front of his already dirty undershirt. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better.” Loki scanned the room. There were things that looked like vests and armor in various states of disrepair, being taken apart, and being fused together around the room mixed in with various pieces that looked like they belonged to the Iron Man suit in some way.

“Can I show you something? But you have to promise not to be mad at me. Because then Pepper will be mad at me and she’ll take my toys away again.” He raised an impish eyebrow and Loki couldn’t help but crack the slightest smile.

“I promise.”

***

It was November. The chill in the air was just starting to really settle in earnest. Most of the kids in the neighborhood still got by wearing lighter jackets with their heavier pants and jumpers. Steve was stuck in his winter coat already. It was too small. He’d had a miraculous growth spurt of several inches that had rendered most of his pants and shirtsleeves just slightly too short. Even though he felt a little ridiculous, he was proud of the way his bony ankle just barely showed. Bucky’s mom had brought over some of the less threadbare articles that he’d grown out of. Steve’s mom had spent a whole night taking in the waists of the pants and hemming the legs so they were a proper length and didn’t drag and putting darts into the sides of the shirts so that they didn’t swallow him up quite so obviously. You could barely notice all of the careful tailoring and it felt like wearing brand new clothes. Bucky still fit in his coat from the previous winter, though, so Steve was still stuck with his and the way his arms sort of dangled awkwardly because of the now too-tight shoulders.

The coat hadn’t helped in the end, though. Steve’s stomach was on fire. His back and hips and knees ached. His throat burned with the effort of dragging breath into lungs that rattled. His head was swimming. His ears felt clogged the way they had for days after those older boys had held him under the water at the beach at Coney Island just that summer before Bucky had pulled him out and bloodied their noses.

“I had ‘em on the ropes.” Steve had said between retches as he threw up salty water.

“Sure ya did. You were just pretendin’ ta drown. Ya got gills ya been hidin’ this whole time.”

Steve hadn’t been to school in three days. He’d come home Saturday after being out most of the day with Bucky and some other kids from their building with little appetite and a strong desire for sleep. The appetite hadn’t really concerned his mom. When his stomach was bad—ulcers—eating just wasn’t that appealing. Sometimes running around all day made them act up something awful. When he fell asleep during Mass on Sunday morning, his mother had been slightly mortified. By the time they were home, he was wheezing. It was bad enough that his mom let him have two cigarettes. They left him with a pounding heart and a pleasant out-of-body sensation.

When he woken up hacking and wheezing and barfing Monday morning, she kept him home from school.

Tuesday, she bundled him up in his coat and the thick blanket from his bed that the landlady had knitted for him all summer, and loaded him into the back of a cab that he knew they couldn’t afford. She used the entrance meant for employees when they reached Brooklyn Hospital and the doctor she usually worked under immediately admitted Steve when he got a look at how pale he was.

Steve didn’t have the energy to open his eyes, but he could damned well hear that they were talking about him like he wasn’t in the room.

_“Goddamnit. He’s coming out of it again. The anesthesia is metabolizing too quickly. Should we hit him with more? Can we actually cause damage? I mean, he’s the super soldier. Can we hurt him?”_

_“Clearly he can be hurt. Leave it for as long as possible. The last thing we need is a brain dead national treasure on our table. Right now I’m just worried about getting all this shit out of the wound.” Something clanked, like metal on metal. Steve could smell blood and antiseptic. “Get that bullet packaged and sent out to SHIELD immediately. Fuck. Look at all this.”_

_Steve groaned at the discomfort he felt. He tried to open his eyes and found he couldn’t, like someone had taped them shut. He wanted to wretch, there was something stuck in his throat. “Captain Rogers?” There was a soft voice and softer hand on his shoulder. “Captain Rogers you need to relax, okay? Can you relax for me? Can you count to ten? Count to ten in your head and everything will be fine.”_

“We’ve had him on the nebulizer a few times, so the wheezing has gotten a little better, but he’s still having a really difficult time. I don’t think there’s fluid in his lungs, just some terrible congestion.”

“Is it—“

“No! No. I don’t think it’s tuberculosis. Maybe just a cold? With all of his other problems, it wouldn’t surprise me if it was just that his body couldn’t handle it. I just wish he would eat something more than clear broth. He needs fuel if he’s going to fight this.”

His mom’s voice sounded relieved. His room was right near the nurses’ station so that his mom’s nurse friends could look in on him and let her know how he was. She didn’t work in this unit. She only came in to check on him before and after her shifts and she always smelled like harsh soap, like she was freshly showered.

“Ma’am, is Mrs. Rogers on duty right now?” Steve was smiling on the inside even if it never reached his face.

“She’s with a patient. Can I help you, young man?”

“Naw, I need to see her. I’ll wait here. They said she was here when I asked at the front desk. It’s important.”

Steve forced his eyes open at the sound of his mother’s heels clicking against the floor out of the room. “James Barnes, what on earth are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mrs. Rogers. Steve hasn’t been to school in three whole days. I got worried. I got all his work for ‘im and when I went to your house to drop it off neither of yous was home! The landlady said ya hadn’t been home since Tuesday and that Steve looked somethin’ awful. I figured ya’d be here.”

“Does your mother know you’re here? How did you get here?”

“Naw, I didn’t stop to tell ‘er. I just hopped on the bus.”

“James, you shouldn’t have done that. She must be worried sick.”

“But _I_ was worried sick.” He feigned a cough. “See, Mrs. Rogers? I’m dyin’, I'm so worried.” Steve saw Bucky stretch up to look into the room over his mom’s shoulder. “Is that him in there all bundled up? Can I go in?” She sighed heavily and waved a hand dismissively, warning Bucky not to tire him out. Bucky dropped the short stack of books and papers in his lap and he winced. “Hey, punk.”

“Jerk,” he wheezed.

“You dyin’?”

“Feels like it.”

“Well suck it up, ‘cause ya stuck with me ‘till the end of the line.”

_“Alright, let’s start closing. Looks like we’ve got all the fragments. Is the bed in recovery ready yet?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Good. Go tell Sergeant Barnes we’re almost done, kid’s crazy sittin’ out there.”_

_Bucky? Was Bucky there? Steve was loosing track of reality._

Bucky had told him later on that his mother had boxed his ear something fierce when he’d gotten home. “James Buchanan Barnes!” He imitated the shrillness of her voice when she was upset. “You had me scared half to death! We were ready to call the police! Don’t you dare do that again!” Then she’d hugged him and cried and told him he was a good boy and a good friend even if he was a foolish imp.

“Captain Rogers?” Steve dragged his eyes open to look up into concerned blue eyes. _Bucky?_  No, the hair was too short. The uniform was wrong.“I’m glad you’re okay, Captain. I just…I wanted to say thank you. For earlier. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. I should have had your back.”

Steve’s mouth twitched up into some semblance of a smile. “’S okay. Just get the bastards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint says, "I just want to go home. Please." in Russian. In the same, Natasha asks, "Me? Or her?" Once again, if Google has failed, please feel free to correct me. And if I've used the wrong diminutive or an inappropriate or awkward form, please correct me as well.
> 
> What's Tony up to? Hmm.
> 
> I hope you've all had your hearts sufficiently ripped out by Steve's sort of hallucinogenic memories. And before you ask, yes, asthma cigarettes were absolutely a thing. They were cheaper and more accessible and easy to use than inhalers or atomizers or nebulizers. They had herbs that were meant to relax the person rather than tobacco and had a bit of a trippy effect. They often caused heart palpitations though, so someone like Steve should be using them very sparingly if at all. They were discontinued sometime before 1950ish if I remember correctly, in the interest of more effective and appropriate medicinal routes.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	73. Okay-ish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Loki feel things out. Clint deals with some harsh facts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: 06/20/14 Fixed up some missing words/phrases that my brain had evidently filled in but not sent impulses down to my fingers to type at 3AM. Minor edits.

Tony pulled Loki toward the bank of computer screens on the other end of the workspace. “You’re sure you promise you’re not going to be mad? Because Cap was mad. Then Pepper was mad. And I’m pretty sure JARVIS may have actually been mad too.”

“Disappointed, Sir. The word you’re looking for is disappointed.”

“Shut up, JARVIS, no one asked you.” His tone was full of snark, but his expression was remorseful. “So, when I worked with Fitz-Simmons while they were trying to figure out what kind of mutant you were I kind of took the liberty of comparing your genome to someone else.”

Loki’s pulse quickened, “You can’t just leave things alone, can you Stark?”

“Nope. Not in my nature.” Loki crossed her arms over her chest and edged back slightly, ready to make a break for it if need be.

“So what did you find in your comparison?”

“Well, I already assumed it wouldn’t be a familial match based on previous information. But I learned some other interesting things from it.” On the screen appeared what Loki knew from her lessons in genetics from Dr. Carter and her own brief research were DNA models and sequences.

“Like what?”

“First and foremost, you’re definitely not from _Arizona_.” His emphasis on the word and the waggle to his brow made her want to cold clock him. “But other than what Fitz-Simmons already presented, not really much more. I’m not a geneticist. I’m not into biology. I’m an engineer. This is just dabbling, really. And I don’t think that I can do much more anyway, if I don’t have a proper comparative sample. You know. From someone who is also not from Arizona.”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

“Fair enough.” He swept the models aside and pulled up what appeared to be blueprints. “Have you seen the Zombie-Space-Viking Containment Chamber? You know, since you’re supposed to be the secret weapon, you might want to have a look-see.”

Loki arched a brow, “Alright, I’m interested.” Stark was looking at her like one might look at an exhibit at the zoo. “You’re not going to get me to say anything concerning where I am from out loud. That is the whole point of assuming a new identity and living as anonymously as possible. Just show me.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s actually good enough for me.”

Loki narrowed hers right back. “Show me.”

The screens came alive with vivid images of the cell. It appeared to be a central, circular space enclosed by the same complex material that made up the viewing windows of the cells in Asgard. The Midgardians believed it magic, but it was essentially a complex molecular structure. Magic was involved in the sense that an infused incantation could contain magic and block attempts at teleportation or utilizing Yggdrasil’s pathways. Another concentric room with walls of what was most likely bulletproof glass surrounded the cell. There were cameras visible from several angles outside the cell and outside what Loki thought of as the moat surrounding it. Stark tapped at several keys and the active security feed from a camera presumably mounted on the ceiling of the cell appeared on the screen.

“Fascinating. Disturbing. But fascinating.” She chewed the inside of her cheek in thought. “I thought the point was to contain and destroy the draugr. This looks like it is designed for long-term holding and observation.” Stark tapped the side of his nose. Loki made a thoughtful sound and moved away from the computer bank, not wanting to appear too interested. She was sure Stark knew. His blatant antagonizing was enough to tell her that. But she didn’t have to let on completely. She walked a circuit around the room, taking note of all the various projects in different stages of unfinished and the whiteboards and windows covered in equations and diagrams and theories. She picked up the outer covering of what was clearly a ripped apart flack jacket. “What are you working on? Where did you get all of these?” Stark shrugged and said he’d asked JARVIS to make sure that he had a variety available to work with earlier. “What are you doing with them?” Her stomach flipped at the potential that one of these might be Steve’s. She saw none that looked like they’d been used, just taken apart.

Stark shrugged again and Loki turned her back on him, fingering the thick, stiff fabric in her hands and studying a set of equations. She placed the jacket back down on the worktable and picked up a marker and eraser. She set to work on an equation that had stood out to her and adjusted the accompanying graph accordingly.

Stark practically leaped over the workbench when he realized what exactly she was doing. “That’s my work! Stop!”

Loki gave him an incredulous look when he snatched the eraser from her hand. “Your work was incorrect.”

“No it wasn’t! I’m not incorrect. I don’t _do_ incorrect work. You’ve ruined it—you…” His mouth hung open slightly. “You fixed it. That actually fixes the issue. How did you…why did…you’re…” He frowned. “You’re good at math.”

“If you had been as wonderful a hacker and curator of private information as you like to claim, you would have already known I am proficient in mathematics.” She put the marker down and crossed her arms. “We have math in _Arizona_. And it is not as if I did not have other resources at my fingertips.” She leaned back casually on the workbench, enjoying Stark’s discomfort. “I rather like it, in fact. So little deals in absolutes. Mathematics does. Either something is or is not. There are multiple ways to arrive at the same answer. There are very few other things in any world that are this way.”

Stark studied her for a long moment. Loki imagined she could see the gears in his head turning, considering. He gestured to the window covered in writing, “What about that one?”

***

Clint was content to lie beside Natasha and let the world move on without them. He had a hot mug of coffee in his hand, resting on his stomach. With his other, he traced designs across her bare flesh, grinning when she drew in breath as he teasingly pinched at her nipple.

He turned over to place the mug down on the nightstand and caught a glimpse out the tall windows downstairs. The black sky was lightening to indigo. The lights of the streetlamps began to look sepia rather than bright and blinding.

“Let’s just stay here. Not get out of bed all day. Fury won’t care if we don’t show up for work. I’ll type my report and email it in.” Natasha turned over onto her side and propped her head up.

“You mean you’ll ask me to type your report and email it in?”

“You know me so well.”

She rolled her eyes at him and reached across his body to steal his mug, her own long empty. She just didn’t appreciate savoring something like a well-made cup of coffee. He thought that was residual from her training. Food and drink were more a necessary fuel than something to be slowly enjoyed. She took a few sips, placed the mug back down and settled onto her stomach. “We should get some sleep.”

“I’m wide awake.” He sat up and squeezed her thigh affectionately. Clint was making it a point to ignore that his ears hadn’t gotten any better. Everything still sounded far away or muffled.

“You are, are you?”

“Mhm. So wide awake, I think I could go another round.”

Natasha snorted, “And what if I don’t want to?”

“I think I can be persuasive.” He knelt up and swung a leg over her body, began kneading her shoulders and back with his calloused hands.

“She protected me.”

“Hmm?”

Natasha repeated herself, slightly louder. “When we got back up to the surface. I broke cover and was going to fire.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Clint scooted down and bit her shoulder gently. She groaned appreciatively. He moved his massage further down her back. “I won’t lie. I did it on purpose.”

“And did she surprise you?”

“Yes and no.” His hands moved down over the globes of her rear end, shapely and firm to match those thighs. “Clint?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s go another round.”

“You’re singin’ my tune, ‘Tash.” She arched her back, angling her body to allow him to rut against the cleft of her ass until he was ready.

***

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Ms. Potts?”

“Did Tony spend the night downstairs?”

“Yes, ma’am. He spent the night working on a new project. Agent Ferguson joined him and they talked for a long while before she began collaborating on the project with him.”

“Oh gosh. That poor girl. Did he keep her up?”

“I believe it may have been a competition at some point.”

“Where are they now? I’m almost finished making breakfast.”

JARVIS projected an image of the live security feed from Tony’s R&D lab. Every available surface that could reasonably be written on _had_ been written on. Pepper hated when he did that. Inevitably, something would get smeared or he would clean a board or a window before writing down or photographing his work. Inevitably, this led to a mini-breakdown of some sort. It had gotten slightly better since The Extremis Incident, but it would happen nonetheless. The camera zoomed in and focused on two figures at the main workbench. Tony’s head was lolled back, mouth hanging open, body reclined in the office chair from the computer desk. Onheil was perched carefully on a stool, head propped in one hand. “How about we give them a wake up call, hmm?”

“Certainly, Ms. Potts. The usual?”

“I think so.”

Pepper laughed as the bugle began to play loudly over the speakers in the lab. Tony proceeded to startle awake and fall out of his chair while Onheil looked at the ceiling, the way most people did when speaking or listening to JARVIS, as if the AI had committed some heinous personal offense.

***

Thor sat in Frigga’s garden. His shoulders where hunched as if the half cape he wore was too heavy for him. He stared down at the ground with unfocused eyes. He was exhausted. He had not slept properly since the Alignment and not at all in the past several days. His mind had become prone to wandering. He found himself losing several minutes at a time during council meetings.

“Mother, I wish that you were here to offer guidance in this circumstance. Father continues the Odinsleep. I feel at this stage that it is out of spite. I fear that I cannot govern the Nine. I am not made for this.” He rubbed his face, calluses forged in training and battle rough over his skin. He ran his fingers through the tangles of his beard, grown long from lack of attention. He would need to clean himself up before he ventured outside the palace into public. There was a delegate from Alfheim due to arrive in a day or so. Loki had friends there. Light elves. He had tried to send Sigyn and their sons to the elves in the aftermath of Baldr’s death. Funny. And incredibly sad that he should end his life there, in the desolate lands once inhabited by the dark elves.

Funny that Thor thought less and less that Loki’s life had ended. If he had become draugr, he surely would have exacted his revenge by now. It was evident that Ragnarok was not to come. But still, the rooster had crowed his warning. Perhaps Thor was hurrying the end along by creating enemies. Surely, if Hel had not had a reason to build her ship and rally the Jotun to her cause before, she certainly would now.

Thor laughed bitterly to himself. “Loki would know what to do.” He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control of emotions that had suddenly run high. “What happened to us?”

“Thor!” Volstagg’s booming voice came across the peaceful space. Thor groaned inwardly. No one had been allowed within the walls of Frigga’s gardens without her express permission before. Evidently people found that since she was gone, they no longer had to follow that particular protocol. His friend’s heavy hand came down on his shoulder. “Thor, why so glum?” The smile Volstagg presented was cheery. The man always seemed to find some reason to be jolly.

“Must I really answer that question, friend?”

“No, I am sorry, my King. I meant no offense. Merely trying to cheer you up.” He sat down beside Thor on the stone bench. “The delegate from Alfheim comes soon.”

“They do.”

“Do you think they will have anything new to report? Or that we can get any further information from them?”

“I do not know. To be honest, I do not know who specifically was in my brother’s confidence. He kept his alliances close. I do not even think that Sigyn knew exactly who he trusted there.” Thor was careful not to mention details. There was still some hope that they would be able to bring some of Loki’s old friends around to their cause.

“Most think that I am hunting him. I do not think that they will be willing to come forward if that continues to be the general thought.”

“Are we no longer hunting him? If he is draugr—“

“No, Volstagg. I no longer believe that.”

“But you do believe that Hel is communicating with him.”

“Perhaps. I am not entirely sure how, but perhaps. She has powerful magic. In some ways, she is more powerful than even Loki was.”

“Do you think she is merely checking in or keeping him informed?” Volstagg sighed heavily. “A Trickster that is one step ahead is a frightening Trickster to behold.”

Thor raised a brow, a wry smile stretching his lips. “So then you were always terrified of my little brother.”

Volstagg looked offended for a moment before grinning. “No. No. I think that I was only truly terrified of him once.”

“When was that?”

“After his lips were sewn. The first time he appeared in public.”

Thor nodded, understanding Volstagg’s meaning. Loki had been a fearsome sight to behold, indeed. His eyes would look dead or murderous depending on who was addressing him. The incisions in his flesh would bleed occasionally, more often at the beginning of the punishment, when he would become forgetful and try to speak. It was hardest watching him sit in his place at the head table at feast. The people around him engaging in food and drink and conversation that he could not share. Thor still did not know how Loki took nourishment during that time. Afterward, he had been silent for some time; a sort of self imposed exile and his own punishment for all those who attempted to engage him.

Except for Sigyn. Their love had been slow and tender, nothing like the whirlwind that had resulted in Loki’s first marriage. She cared for him, brought him back to himself. Thor had thought things would be like before the sewing. But it wasn’t. Loki had grown too distrustful. He chose to have a home built for he and his bride. They hid away there. Away from Loki’s family, those who cared for him. It had killed Frigga; though she would never tell anyone the pain it caused her to have Loki so far away. When word spread of Sigyn’s miscarriage—and the hideous visage of the dead child, bluish and ridged with gangly limbs—they had all been hopeful that the couple would come home. But they didn’t. If anything, they grew more reluctant to attend court or accept visitors.

It had been a lonely time.

“Loki always knew how to handle strange situations like this. He always had a plan or a way out.” Thor smiled sadly. “What I would not give for his council now…”

“But you must remember the last time he offered advice—it resulted in your exile!”

“But still, he told me not to go to Jotunheim. I did not listen. Once there, he told me not to fight. I did not listen.”

“He knew how to goad you, like any Trickster.” Volstagg paused, stroked his great beard. “Like any pest of a little brother, truthfully.” He got to his feet and squeezed Thor’s shoulder. “Come, the Lady Sigyn has requested an audience. I was tempted to tell he she might have it only if she would speak in front of the entire council, but I think she would be more receptive to you alone.”

“Making decisions for me now? Have you and Fandral decided to usurp the throne?”

Volstagg looked truly offended then. “No, my King. Never.”

“Ah. A shame. I would have given it up gladly.”

***

Clint busied himself in the kitchen while Natasha dosed. Sleep truly refused to find him. He moved about as quietly as he could, pulling out flour and sugar and poppy seeds from the cabinets. While the muffins baked he put on a new pot of coffee to brew and set a pan with sugar and orange juice and vanilla and almond to melt and simmer. The last time she had been here she had scolded him for cooking for Steve and Onheil. He knew it had been in jest, but he felt the need to make it up to her. To show her she was the first thing he thought about in the morning.

When the muffins were cooling and covered in sticky, sweet glaze and the coffee was done, Natasha still had not appeared. Clint’s phone started buzzing in his pocket as he poured himself a mug. He grinned when he saw whom the message was from.

_You okay?_

_Yeah_

_Romanov okay?_

_Ditto. How R U?_

_Been better._

_Still @ S. Tower?_

_Yes. Did you know that JARVIS is a goddamned troll? And that Pepper enables it?_

_LMAO What happened?_

_Easier to describe in person. Got Steve news._

_?????_

_He’s okay. Ish. Made it through surgery. Sedated._

_Who told you?_

_Rhodey tracked down the kid that went with him._

_Oh. How’s the kid?_

_Somewhat fucked up._

_I believe it. Do you need me?_

_Oh baby, yes, I need you, I gotta have you. <3333_

_Now who’s the troll?_

_;P_

Clint dropped the phone back into his pocket and picked the coffeepot back up, tempted to simply drink straight from it. He didn’t think Natasha would actually mind.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Time felt like it slowed down as he reacted.

The pot fell from his hands, shattering as it hit the edge of the counter and sending a waterfall of hot coffee and glass across the tops of his feet. Thank goodness he had put his slippers on. He snatched the fork he had used to mix the muffin batter from the bowl, ready to use it as a weapon as he whipped his body around.

“Clint Barton!” Natasha’s voice was shrill shriek. Or at least he thought it should be a shrill shriek. He dropped the fork.

“’Tash.” Clint could hardly hear himself. He thought it would get better.

_It got worse._

Natasha gripped his face, gently making him move away from the mess he’d made and forcing him to look right at her. “We are going to SHIELD and we are going to medical. Right after we clean this up so Lucky doesn’t hurt himself.” Clint nodded and moved out of the kitchen on shaky legs, going to retrieve a towel to soak up the coffee with.

He was in shock as he went through the motions of cleaning and dressing. As Natasha loaded him into her car and drove over the bridge into Manhattan. As she took him by the hand and led him into SHIELD. As she tugged him into an elevator and down to check in at medical.

He was in shock as the doctor told him—told Natasha, really—that the blast had damaged the hair cells that sent impulses to the nerves in his ears.

He was in shock as the doctor fitted him for hearing aids.

He was in shock when he finally had to admit to himself that he had gone deaf.

***

“Steve!” Bucky was angry with him. “I don’t get it. I don’t know why ya have to fuckin’ pick fights all the time.”

“I don’t pick them.” Steve steadied himself on Bucky’s shoulders to climb up out of the garbage bin. At least it had been empty. His mother would kill him if he came home reeking of trash and a bloody mess again. His eye felt tight, he knew it was already blackening and swelling. His split lip stung when he ran his tongue over it. “I just don’t back down when they start.”

“I don’t understand it.” Bucky slipped an arm around him and brushed off the front of his shirt. Steve ran a hand through his hair to try and put it back into some semblance of order. Bucky’s knuckles were split where the goon had dodged the punch and his fist hand his the wall. “You know how easy it is for ya to get hurt.” He stopped and looked Steve right in the eye. “I don’t understand why you refuse to fuckin’ take care of ya-self.”

Steve set his jaw and looked away. He hoped ignoring the comment would just get Bucky to start moving back toward the mouth of the alley again so they could go home. “Maybe it’s the only time I feel alive anymore.”

“Let’s go home, Steve.”

“Steve?” His eyelids felt heavy, his body felt like it was made of lead, like the first time they’d given him morphine in the hospital as a teenager during a particularly rough winter. It had hit him like a ton of brinks and kept him down for days. “Steve? Captain Rogers?”

“Yeah?” His tongue felt too thick for his mouth. It frightened him. He was vaguely aware of something beeping rapidly off to the side.

A warm hand encircled his. “We’re getting ready to ship you home, Captain.”

“Okay.”

Steve was vaguely aware of the doctor explaining what had happened to him, what procedures he had gone through, why he was sedated. “We’re transferring you to the medical center in Germany first.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “You know…” He had to put effort into his words. “I’ve knocked Hitler out…over…two-hunnit times.”

The doctor smiled and raised a brow. “I did know that, actually. After they give you final clearance at Landstuhl they’ll send you home.”

“Shield.”

“Yes, we’ve informed Director Fury about your progress.”

Steve shook his head. “My shield.”

The doctor nodded in understanding. “Do you need it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make sure you get it. It’s in safe-keeping in my office.” Steve nodded slipping back into induced fatigue once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, finally, we know for sure that Clint has gone deaf. Obviously, I didn't handle it the same way it happened in the comic, but I think how I did it fits the story. I also like that aspect of Clint. It's another factor working against him while he's trying to fight along-side super soldiers and gods and people with specialized robotic suits. It's another thing that makes him that much more amazing when he beats the odds.
> 
> So, what project are Tony and Loki collaborating on? I can't remember who requested it, but at some point a request was made for Loki to correct Tony's work. I hope it turned out to your liking and I'm certainly sorry that it took so long to fulfill.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	74. Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Tony collaborate on a project to keep their minds off of things. Rhodey delivers some new information.

It seemed as though Stark were purposefully luring her down to his laboratory each day in the hopes of getting her to lengthen her stay at the Tower. She cringed each time JARVIS suggested her presence or input was required. She had a perfect image in her head of Thor standing in the middle of the lab, caped and glorious in his anger, hammer in hand, waiting to drag her back to Asgard. It was a pleasant surprise each time her imaginings did not materialize.

“Okay. So, as much juice as you’ve got. Go for it.”

“I rather think you may regret that decision, Stark.”

“If the blend is right, I won’t feel a damned thing.” Over the course of their week-long collaboration, they had developed a hybrid mixture of metals based in part on the Iron Man suit as well as the properties of Steve’s shield, though there was no vibranium readily available to work with and evidently very little of it in the world in any case.

“And if it is not, you will be dead. Or at least hospitalized.”

“I trust you.”

“That’s quite a misguided sentiment.”

“Shut up and hit me with it.”

He braced himself for the blow, squeezing his eyes shut and tensing his body. That was generally a bad idea, but most Midgardians, she found, preferred learning things the hard way.

Loki flicked her wrist and let a bolt of energy fly, about the speed and force of say, a bullet, in Stark’s general direction. Green-gold shimmered lazily in the air in a trail from one side of the room to the other. Stark was knocked backward, pushed into the matt taped to the wall for their purposes. The thin, light shell protecting his core organs flexed and groaned, slightly dented, but stayed intact. “Shall I hit you again? I think I’d like to.”

Tony got slowly to his feet, groaning, letting his age show just the slightest bit. Midgardians were so fleeting and fragile. “No! No. That’s fine. I’m good for now. No more energy blasts. Prototype success noted.” He plunked down on the stool at the workbench, “J, can you run an analysis on that?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Are you alright, Stark?” He’d taken the piece of armor off and was rubbing the spot where she struck him.

“Yeah.” He examined the piece, checking it over for defects. “It worked.”

“What do you plan on doing with this?”

“Not sure yet. Might send it down to SI to my R&D people there.”

“So you plan to have it produced? In large scale?” He nodded. “Why?”

“If Captain America can be taken down by a bullet and a defective vest, then something needs to be done. I wouldn’t want Rhodey to have to worry about whether or not his gear was actually going to work. I don’t think anyone else should have to worry about it either.”

Loki raised a brow, “Why the sudden drive to rectify the situation?”

“No body fucks with my family.” Loki let the smile creep across her lips rather than holding it back. She sat and watched as he hammered out the dent.

“May I try this on?” She dragged her fingertip across the surface of a discarded hand piece from Stark’s suit.

“That would be a most resounding _no_.” He glanced at the component. “It’s broken anyway. Circuits are fried. Gotta gut it an rewire.” He made a strangled sound when she popped the shell open and exposed the inner workings.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Just hmm.” She picked up the tool he’d told her was the soldering iron. “Teach me.”

“What are you getting at? Trying to be my pit crew?”

“No. I simply like to learn. Have we not established that?” In truth, that was only half the reason. She could see he was becoming obsessive, something Pepper had warned her about when she’d learned the two were collaborating. She didn’t have to like the man to not want to watch him self-destruct.

And it distracted her from her own need to lash out. There had been no further news from Rhodey. SHIELD had not reached out—not even an annoyed email from Coulson or Fury asking why she had not reported to HQ or submitted her mission report. It seemed as though they were waiting for something.

Pepper appeared an hour later, sandwiches wrapped in wax paper tucked under her arm. “Oh God, Tony. What is this? Mach Seven-eighty-two?”

“Nah. Seven-eighty-three.” He grinned. She chuckled. “Teaching Miss Mischief here the basics of circuitry.”

“He won’t let me try it on.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, “Let her try it on.”

“It’s not calibrated to her.”

“So then it won’t matter.”

“I just want to play dress-up, Tony, gosh.” Loki made an exaggeratedly put-out out face. Pepper snorted out a giggle. He narrowed his eyes and slid the component toward her.

Loki grinned, slapped the outer shell shut, and slipped her hand inside. The soft whirs and clicks as she flexed her wrist and fingers reminded her vaguely of the man who tried to kill her. Pepper was pushing work materials aside and unwrapping sandwiches with mild protestation from Tony. Loki wondered what would happen with just a touch of magic…

“Take it off! Now!” Loki was giggling and struggling for breath at the sight of Stark’s shocked face. Pepper put her hand out like a mother demanding something from a naughty child. “I will not tolerate two reckless nerds in my house.”

Loki slipped the glove off and placed it in Pepper’s outstretched hand. “You…you just blew a fucking crater in my floor. JARVIS, was that thing online?”

“No, sir. The energy was supplied solely by Agent Ferguson.”

“You…you can’t…” He whipped his head around, wild-eyed. “ _Your_ house?”

Pepper folded her arms and settled herself sitting on the edge of the workbench between the two. “You may pay for the place, but I keep it running.”

***

Clint no longer felt safe in his own home. Sure, Lucky would alert him to anything. But he still felt vulnerable.

When he got home that first night after a full day of testing and fitting and being checked out, he’d had twenty-seven various missed messages, emails, and calls. He’d have to learn to make sure the vibrate function was always turned on, just in case.

They’d given him hearing aids. They’d offered to do some kind of procedure that involved implanting something in his head, which he’d flat out refused. Nope. No thank you. No one else was ever allowed inside his scull again. Absolutely not. So he’d taken the hearing aids. They were very discreet. Hardly visible. If he grew his hair a little longer, stopped shaving the sides as close, he could cover the small battery pack that rested on the outside of his ear pretty well.

Wearing them, it was as if nothing had happened. He was sure that it was in his head, that he’d simply convinced himself that sound wasn’t as organic anymore. He really could hear clear as a bell. But he hated them. He hated what they meant. What if his batteries died out on a long mission? What if heat or moisture messed them up? What if somehow he lost them in the course of a fight? He’d be sunk. Hearing was half of the equation when he was targeting a mark. You hear them first. An errant footfall. A snapped twig. Something dropped. The click of a firearm being cocked. You sighted them second. Sighted and fired. Without his ears, he was down to half of his resources.

They made him feel broken and dependant. He’d promised himself he’d never fucking feel that way again. Not after everything that had happened as a kid, everything that had happened in the circus. Never again.

So there he was. Hold up in his loft. Letting the count of missed messages and calls continue to rise while he lay on his couch in the dark.

Natasha gave him a week before she used her key to let herself in. “Hawk. Stop wallowing.”

“’m not wallowing.” He spoke directly into the couch cushion.

“Ferguson is texting _me_. Of all people. Because she’s worried about _you_.” Clint lifted his head slightly. He’d seen her number pop up on the screen of his phone a few times and had ignored it just the same as he’d ignored everyone else. “Please text her and tell her you’re alive. She doesn’t believe me. She says she’d going to drive over here with Stark if she doesn’t hear from you soon.”

“I don’t want Stark here.”

“Then text her.”

Clint harrumphed and picked up his phone.

_R U OK?!_

_Wtf is that supposed to mean?_

_I’m coming ovr._

_Don’t. Pls. & NO STARK._

_Why not?_

_I just want to be left alone._

_U sure?_

_Yes. Anything more w/ Cap?_

_Not yet._

_U ok?_

_Yes. I’ve angered the Man of Iron. I’m quite entertained._

_How?_

_Put a crater in his lab floor :D_

_Do I want to know?_

_Better story in person. Hand motions and interpretive dance required._

_I bet. Ttyl. Nat here._

_Ok. Call if needed._

“There. I did it. Happy?”

“Yes.” She didn’t make any comment if she felt the dampness on her shoulder when she snuggled up beside him on the couch and he pressed his face into her.

***

Steve was grateful for all of the people at the hospital in Germany and their kindness and patience. He felt a bit like he was trapped in his own head. All he really wanted to do was get out of bed and stretch his legs. Every time he mentioned it he got a sympathetic look and an explanation that, no, he could not in fact get out of bed and stretch is legs. He was only half paying attention to anything they said. The fog was partly to blame. He was pretty sure by the end of the week that they were sedating him. The other part was that he knew if he’d been hurt, the serum would heal him up. Right? It had kept him alive over nearly seventy years being trapped in ice in the Artic after he’d survived the impact and the initial flooding of the plane when he crashed it. So he should be fine. He should be able to get out of bed and stretch his goddamned legs if he damn well wanted to. And the fog would take over again.

He resented the private flight back to the States. Other soldiers weren’t indulged that way. He really didn’t care what he was. He was still just a soldier. He just wanted to be treated like a normal person.

He vaguely remembered being settled into a new room after being taken off the plane and loaded into a car with heavily tinted windows. He vaguely remembered feeling like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He vaguely remembered thinking that being small and sickly was better than feeling that way.

“Grab my hand!” Bucky was edging out onto the blown-open train door as they raced along the tracks. “Steve, c’mon. You can do it! Just grab my hand!” He inched his feet slightly further out and extended his arm as far as it would go. There was no way that Buck’d be able to hoist him up, his body was too heavy for that now. He’d just pull both of them down.

“Get back inside!”

“No! Not without you!”

Steve tried to pull himself up; his strength failed him when he couldn’t get the right leverage. His hands slipped, the leather of his gloves too smooth against the metal bar he was gripping. He was falling. Bucky was yelling. Or was it Steve yelling? It all just seemed backward and twisted and he knew in his gut he’d failed to do something important.

He felt as though he had been falling for an eternity when his body finally hit the hard-packed snow and rock at the floor of the valley. Try as he might, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t quite feel his toes. It must have been the cold. He lay there, trying to decide what he next move should be—worried like hell that Bucky was facing some HYDRA goon all alone. But the shield was still up there and he was sure Bucky could use it. He would be okay. The others were there; they’d take the train with no problem.

“Fuck!” He squirmed; he fought with a body that felt like dead weight as they dragged him through the snow. He lashed out with his fists and snatched at hands with his teeth and threw his head back to make hard contact with someone else’s. For all his efforts, he simply couldn’t get away from these men in their black suits and helmets.

Steve was vaguely aware that he might, in fact, have been openly sobbing. His head hurt, his eyes burned, his nose was running. But there was that fog, so ready to pull him back under.

***

“Sir, there is a call from Colonel Rhodes. Shall I put him through?”

“Absolutely.”

“Hey there.” Rhodey’s disembodied voice was piped into the room. “Onheil with you?”

“Hello, Rhodey.”

“Good. Alright, I’ve got news. They shipped him home. He arrived at Walter Reed early this morning. Private flight. Very hush hush, but, you know, War Mach—Iron Patriot, so, I got the scoop.”

“Will I be permitted to see him there?”

“I don’t see why not, Onheil.”

Loki turned to Stark, “How do I get there?” Tony started to speak and Pepper put a hand up.

“I was supposed to head down to DC next week for business. I’ll push the meeting up. You can go down with me on the Stark jet. Company has a condo in the city you can stay in.” Loki said she didn’t want to inconvenience Pepper or disturb the company’s business. She could figure out a way to get down to the hospital. “Oh hush. It’ll be fun. Can’t wait to see the shocked look on Anderson’s face when I beat him to the punch and buy out all his assets.” There was a mischievous glint in Pepper’s eye.

Loki’s mouth dropped open slightly. “I…thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

Rhodey cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything else, I’m happy to help.”

“Thank you, thank you so much, Colonel.”

“No problem. Might want to touch base with SHIELD. From what I understand about ‘em, you probably don’t want to ruffle their feathers.”

“Hm. No. Wouldn’t want to do that to _them_ at all.”

“I’ve got to run. Hopefully next time’ll be a social call. Tony will have to drag the gang out to Malibu. Drove by the other day, looks like the re-build is almost finished.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll have to do that. Thanks Rhodey.”

A few hours later, after Pepper had made all of the necessary arrangements, Loki found herself in the back of a town car beside Pepper being driven into a small, inconspicuous airport in New Jersey where Stark had a private hangar. “We could drive it. It’s only a few hours.” Happy looked slightly disappointed.

“No, Happy, thank you. I’d rather fly. You’re great, but being trapped in the back of a car in traffic—because there is _always_ traffic on that damned loop—is just not looking too appealing.” She squeezed Loki’s hand. “And I’m sure Onheil wants to get down there as quickly as she can. Besides, I need you to baby-sit Tony. I thin he and JARVIS are in cahoots.”

“Surely you don’t think I’d indulge Mr. Stark too much, Miss Potts.”

“Not intentionally, JARVIS.”

The flight was hardly an hour long but felt more like days. When they reached the condo, Pepper directed her to the spare bedroom. “You should touch base will Phil. He’s supposed to be your commanding officer-type, right? It’s too late to head over to see Steve now, but we’ll go first thing in the morning.”

“Hello, Agent Coulson.”

“Ferguson. I see you’re in Washington.”

“Indeed, I am. Tracking me now, are you?”

“You’ve got Steve’s SHIELD phone and yours. We keep track of the GPS.”

“Ah yes. Well, I am here and informed. No thanks to SHIELD.”

“I’m sorry, Onheil. I’m trying over here. Maria too. Most people here generally agree that the call to leave Steve in the Army’s hands was a shitty one. Not the Army, of course, being the shitty thing. They were great. Took really good care of him. He’s one of their own. The sort of…”

“Abandoning him.”

There was a pause, “Yeah. That.”

“You should let Fury know that he may lose his remaining eye if he comes near me.”

“It wasn’t Fury’s call. It was the higher-ups. Pierce. Defense Secretary. Thought it would save the political types from having to explain why a covert government agency was launching an attack on an organization that was supposed to have fallen apart over half a century ago.”

“Yes, well…Does Pierce have two eyes?”

“I believe so.”

“Perhaps I’ll make him even with our beloved Director if I ever have the occasion to meet him.”

“I don’t think it’s such a great idea to threaten bodily harm on two high ranking government officials while speaking on a government-owned phone.” Coulson was chuckling.

“Yes well, to whomever is listening, then, I wasn’t serious. I’m just rather miffed that you left my…my… _my Steve_ all alone while seriously injured and didn’t bother to give me any sort of update on his condition for a whole week.”

“Rather miffed?”

“Indeed. I supposed as long as I was being reprimanded for making threats that I should watch my language. Steve is always pointing that out.”

“Maria and I will be at the hospital tomorrow morning.”

“As will Miss Potts and I.”

“Can I ask how you got your information? Did Stark hack into SHIELD again?”

“No, he did not. I had a much better source.”

“And you’re not going to let me know who that source is, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Somehow, I didn’t expect anything less.”

Agents Coulson and Hill greeted Loki and Pepper at the entrance to Walter Reed. Pepper took her leave, assuring Loki that if there was a need, she could be back there on the double. Her meeting wasn’t until the following afternoon. The agents—Loki was still amazed that she fell into that group—were led through the hospital to the office of the doctor in charge of Steve’s care.

Loki’s head was swimming with the detailed descriptions of Steve’s injuries and the surgery that he went through. She felt like her breakfast was going to wind up on the doctor’s desk. She shouldn’t have pulled him into it. She shouldn’t have pulled any of them into it. She should have suggested a covert solo operation. Norns, she was starting to think like one of them!

She should have been there for him.

To protect him.

She’d failed him.

One more mark in the column against her. One more failure in a lifetime-long string of them.

“We’re classifying him as paraplegic at the moment.”

“And that means?” Loki raised a brow.

Hill and Coulson shifted uncomfortably. The doctor cleared his throat. “Were you not paying attention, Agent Ferguson?”

“I’ve got quite a bit on my mind, doctor. Please, indulge me.”

“It means he has no use of his legs. Can’t walk or support his own weight.” Loki felt the color run out of her face. “But, with the serum, the effect of it—don’t look at me like that, Agent Hill, the SSR was an Armed Forces organization, we’ve got plenty of data on Erksine’s Super Serum. His work might have been lost, but they took quite a bit of blood from Captain Rogers after the fact.”

“And you’ve not shared any of this information?”

“Haven’t come up with anything useful. Our researchers have been reporting to the government for years. Secretary Pierce, currently.” There was that name again. “It’s not up to us whether or not he or his predecessors choose to share that information with SHIELD.”

Maria huffed and shot off a text message to Fury. “Continue then. What about the effects of the serum.”

“Well, it creates a web of healing and protection, according to all of the old notes. Cellular growth and multiplication is enhanced—almost like the serums chemistry has harnessed the mechanism for cancer and utilized it for…well, good instead of evil.” He paused and shuffled through a thick file. Many of the papers contained within looked like computerized printouts of very old forms with their elegant script and hand-written notations. “Never thought we’d have to dig any of this out of the archives, that’s for sure.” He pulled photographs out of what appeared to be the more recent section of the file. Oh yes, breakfast was most assuredly going to be lost at some point. Loki found herself openly gawking at the high-resolution pictures of Steve’s back, the bullet wound, the shredded flesh that the doctor explained was from the ceramic plates slicing into him and ultimately causing the injuries that would deny him use of his legs. He passed additional photographs over. “Here, these are more recent.” The surgical site looked quite different. “That looks like it’s weeks old when it’s only been one. Our theory, though we’re not sure if we’re even close to being right, is that if we can get him to cooperate and do pretty extensive physical therapy, we might actually get him on his feet again. He might never be able to deploy again, but—“

Coulson put a hand up, “What do you mean, by getting him to cooperate?”

“Can I be frank?” Coulson nodded. “He’s a nightmare. We’ve had to move his room once already. There aren’t any privates available and I’m not going to bump someone just because he’s Captain America.” He swept his gaze across the three of them, as if daring them to object. No one did. “The guy he’s in with right now has the patience of a saint.”

“How has he been a nightmare?”

“I can’t really say it’s entirely his fault. Just sort of the situation. Refuses to listen to anyone. Wants to get up out of bed. Clearly that’s not really possible. Very sort of…not hostile, but argumentative. Seems to be having a hell of a lot of nightmares or flashbacks. Both at Landstuhl and here, we’ve found it necessary to keep him sedated both for his own safety and for that of those around him.”

“Wow.” Coulson rubbed at his forehead. Hill pursed her lips and shot off another text message. Loki felt less nauseous and more furious. _How dare they?_

Loki turned her gaze onto the doctor as if daring him to contradict her request, “May I see him, now?” He nodded and rose from his seat, motioning for the three to follow.

“Staff Sergeant Bennett’s resting, so please keep it down, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” Coulson rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment before turning back to the doctor to discuss who the hospital should report to on Steve’s status and care. Loki had to force herself to walk into the room rather than rush headlong inside.

She gritted her teeth at the sight of him, hooked up to monitors and IV lines. The doctor had explained that one was just to keep him hydrated; the other fed a heavy dose of morphine into his system as needed. She approached tentatively and dragged the folding chair hanging on the wall over to the side of the bed. She sat down heavily and reached out to smooth his hair.

“Are they involved or something?”

“Ah, yeah. Not really relevant, though.”

Loki rolled her eyes and straightened her back. He was home. Almost. She was at his side. She could tolerate everything else. She took his hand in hers and contented herself with rubbing soft circles into his knuckles while she waited for the most recent round of sedation to wear off. She thought it might be soon. Hoped it might be soon. Pleaded with his ever-problematic metabolism to just work a little harder.

***

He was trapped in the ice again. Trapped in his old body. Useless. Pained.

He was small and cold and alone.

But the fog that had been obscuring his view even more than his poor eyesight was beginning to thin and clear.

There was pressure coming from somewhere. Something was touching him. He paused, turned around slowly trying to make sure that his slick-bottomed shoes didn’t slip on the glossy ice beneath his feet. He flexed his fingers, snatched them up toward his chest.

What was there? Who was there? He started to panic, to struggle for breath. He squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them, they felt gummy and crusted over with sleep. His mouth was dry. His throat felt like sandpaper. Everything smelled sterile, like SHIELD medical or the laboratories. Was he there? He wasn’t sure.

Steve dragged his eyes all the way open and blinked into the brightness of the room. Someone was sitting beside him. The fog was clearing and no one was rushing in to envelop him in it again. He focused on the figure beside the bed he was lying in and the pressure on his hand. He opened his mouth to speak and found his tongue felt like lead. He tried again, the sound he produced horrifically raspy but recognizable, “Hey there, Lovebug.”

He wasn’t sure whether it was relief or joy or terror at what was to come or a mixture of all of it at once that made his eyes sting with tears at the sight of the bright smile she set upon him when she raised her head.

“Steven.” She half choked on the name and surged forward to wrap him in an embrace he eagerly returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really tried to not make this reunion corny and I totally failed. I'm so sorry.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	75. Pavore Noctis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve said no. No means no.

“Hello, Captain Rogers.”

“Director.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, I won’t lie, there was a moment I wasn’t sure that I would again.” Steve didn’t respond. He reached out and picked up a lock of hair from Onheil’s shoulder, running his fingers through the strands to reassure himself that she was really there. “I understand you’re back in the States, settled in at Walter Reed.”

“Yes, Sir.”

A nurse came in and slipped behind the curtain that separated his half of the room from the other. She murmured something about the other occupant going for a walk to give the Captain some privacy. He readily agreed on the condition that she walk with him. His voice sounded exceedingly jovial for someone who was in a hospital, especially considering the laundry list of reasons that people could find themselves in that particular hospital for. He shuffled out from the other side of the curtain clinging to her elbow in flannel pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt that looked about twenty years old with the hood drawn up over his head.

“Are you alone, Captain?”

“No, Sir.”

“Ferguson.”

“Do I even need to clarify that?”

“I don’t suppose that you do.”

He was talking on Coulson’s cell phone. Fury had called almost as soon as Steve’s doctor had left. His head was swimming with the information that they had lumped onto him. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He didn’t know quite where it was leading—assumed this was his official you-no-longer-work-for-us call. He still didn’t understand why he was at the military hospital rather than back at SHIELD medical, or why he hadn’t been brought to the SHIELD field office after his surgery in the first place.  Onheil smile at him, her expression warm and soft. She’d offered to leave so that he could talk to Fury alone. He insisted she stay. He didn’t want to deal with whatever this was going to be alone.

“We need to have a serious conversation, Captain.”

“Alright.”

“The condition you're in…you can’t function in the field like that.” Steve couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling. Did people really think he was stupid? It felt like that lately. He opened and closed his fist, trying to get control of the irritation welling up in him. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not still an agent and a valuable asset.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“But I do have something more important to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“We have protocols for this, fail-safes, solutions. In the event of the fall of an Avenger—“

“I didn’t _fall_ , Sir.”

“In the event of the fall of an Avenger, we’ve developed a…procedure. To rectify the situation. It’s classified, of course, but I will tell you that it was how Agent Coulson is able to stand in front of you right now.”

There were rumors, whispers. Coulson insisted that the time he spent away from the agency was spent in Tahiti on vacation, resting and recuperating. A lot of people at SHIELD thought differently. Insisted that everyone had been assured he was dead. Some claimed to have paid their respects in the morgue in the bowels of the New York office after the battle was over.

“No, Sir.”

“What do you mean ‘ _No, Sir_?’ Rogers, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. We can’t count on the serum to get you through this.”

“I mean: No. Sir.” Onheil’s brows came together in a perplexed expression. She skooched her chair closer to his bedside and picked up his hand to thread their fingers together. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head to formulate all of the questions she would want to ask him when he hung up.

“Captain, I really don’t think you have much of a choice in this matter.”

“Director, I really don’t think you understand me. I said, no.”

“Steve—“

“Director, I’m not going to be someone’s lab rat. And I’m not going to take handouts. And I’m not your property. I’m not SHIELD’s property. I’m a human being.”

“That’s not what I mean, Captain. That’s not what this is at all.”

“I am a member of the United States Army. I will be treated as a member of the United States Army. From what I understand, that was my function in Afghanistan, no? Secretary Pierce certainly wanted to make sure that was what the world believed. And do you know what? That’s all I ever wanted to be. A soldier. I wanted to put a few bullies in their place. I wanted to do some good in the world.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath. He hadn’t taken his meds since just before they deployed. He was feeling edgy. Anxious. Snappy. He wasn’t sure if it was all in his head or he was really feeling it. “And doing some good in the world and being a soldier got me here. So being a soldier is going to be what I get out of here as. I’m not taking anything that any one of them can’t or won’t be offered.”

“I think you need to get off of your high horse for a moment, Rogers.”

“I’m not on a high horse. I got shot in the fucking back through gear that was supposed to prevent that. I went through a high-risk surgery. I was half-awake for most of that surgery. I have been in some state of drugged or sedated for a week. I’m paralyzed. I can’t even get up to use the bathroom by myself if I wanted to. I’m fucking angry and terrified. So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m a little blunt.”

Shock was painted over Onheil’s features. He knew he had gone too far. He didn’t care. He was sick of being treated like a commodity every time things got rough. “Steve,” she whispered.

“Get yourself in check, Captain. Cool your jets. Then call me back.” The line disconnected abruptly.

“Yeah, well, have a nice day, Director.” Steve sneered at the phone in his hand. Coulson poked his head in the doorway and asked if everything was all right—as if he didn’t know exactly what was being said. “Take this.” Steve held out the phone and he took it tentatively. “My answer is no. It will not change to a yes. Tell him that. Tell him I said no.”

“Of course, Steve.” Coulson smiled sadly. “To be honest, I don’t blame you. It should be your choice.” His hand went up to the back of his head in a motion it didn’t look like he was conscious of. “But you should think about it, consider it.”

“I really don’t want to think about it, Phil.” He nodded.

“Ah, Maria and I will be heading over to the Triskelion. We’ll be there for a few days getting affairs in order. Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

“Considering that all of your medical and emergency information is tied to SHIELD, that’s who your doctors are going to be reporting to regarding your care. You know, updates, emergencies, matters of life and death.”

“That’s certainly comforting.” Coulson grimaced at the sarcasm in his tone.

“We did inform them that Agent Ferguson would probably be a…permanent fixture. So no one should give the two of you any trouble as long as you don’t pester your poor roommate. When a single room becomes available, you’ll be moved. If you’d like. Totally up to you.” Steve nodded. Coulson started to walk away.

“Phil?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for not treating me…differently.”

“I don’t see any change, Captain.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and left Steve an Onheil alone. She chewed her lip like she couldn’t decide which question to ask first. “What did he say?”

“Wants to do something to me. Some kind of fix. I-I-I…I don’t know what. But I don’t want to do it.” He let his head fall back and sucked in a deep breath. “I just… “ He picked his head backup and looked away, unable to stomach the concern on Onheil’s face. “I just want to be treated like a normal human being. I’m not just an asset. I’m a person.”

She gripped his hand more firmly. He felt his skin tingle and looked down at their entwined fingers. She whispered something. “What?”

“I can help.”

“No, Onheil.”

“Steve, listen to me. Don’t turn away from me like that, you stubborn ox. Listen.” He looked at her full on. “I helped Clint. I kept him alive. And that was when I was practically running on empty. I can help you.”

“Keeping someone alive and fixing something that’s broken are two different things, Onheil.” His voice dropped to a murmur, not wanting any passerby to hear them. “You don’t know that you can help.”

“At least let me try.” His skin tingled again as green sparks danced across his fingers.

“No.” He took his hand back. “If I’m going to do this than I’m going to do it the same way everyone else does.”

“Steve, you’re not everyone else.” She reached for his hand again and he pulled it away. “Please let me try.”

“No.” She glared at him and sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Fine. Be stubborn.”

“As an ox.”

“As a fucking Frost Beast.”

Steve chucked, “A what?”

“Frost Beast. Big ugly thing. Claws and a spiked tail. Not so smart.” She rolled her eyes. “Never mind.” She uncrossed her arms and drew her feet up onto the chair, resting her chin on her knees. “In all honesty, are you okay?”

Steve wasn’t sure how to answer. What did _okay_ mean? Alive? Whole? Unbroken? Happy? Not wanting to set the world on fire? Onheil started to make sounds of protest when he gingerly dislodged the IV lines from his arms. He wanted nothing more to do with anything they were pumping into him. Not now that the fog was cleared and Onheil was there and he could distinguish what was real and what wasn’t. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being small and cold, but at least he wasn’t physically alone. “I don’t know.” He coughed to keep himself from choking on a sob and managed to maintain his composure. “Was the mission successful?”

“I would say so. I managed to download at least something before I was attacked. It was just one man. I got away and met Romanov, May, and Ward topside. There was a short firefight. We were extracted.”

“The others?”

“Dead.” Onheil arranged her face into a careful mask that said much more than her short answer. “As far as I know, Romanov and May have been interrogating the few viable prisoners that were taken. Make of that what you will.” Her tone was overly dismissive. Clearly she was bothered by something.

“It’s been…a week?” She nodded. “How have you been?”

She looked away, thoughtful, as if considering her answer. “I have been with Stark.”

“Is he alive?” She nodded. “Tower still standing?” Another nod.

“Ms. Potts insisted I stay with them while we waited for word on your condition. I seemed to have been very purposefully kept in the dark. All of us were. Colonel Rhodes was a miracle worker on the information front. That is why I am here.”

Steve nodded, wondering what Rhodey had done, exactly. “So you spent a week with Tony?”

“Yes.”

“What did you two do? Aside from bickering, of course.” He just wanted to keep the attention on anything but his current predicament.

“Collaborating, actually. Developing new body armor. Tony was teaching me about circuitry—or, well, I was letting him think he was teaching me about circuitry. I blew a crater in his laboratory floor. Pepper cooked a lot of food.” She patted her abdomen. “I do think that I’ve ruined my girlish figure.”

“You blew a hole in Tony’s floor?”

“A crater. I was wearing an offline Iron Man hand. It was quite entertaining. The look on his face was just absolutely priceless. Pepper called us reckless nerds.”

“How’s Clint? I…I don’t remember much…”

Onheil frowned. “He is giving me the silent treatment. I am not sure if it is because I slapped him or something more pressing. He was complaining of head injuries. I believe Romanov went to check up on him.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and flicked though her messages. “I’ve texted him a few times today. He hasn’t answered.”

“Why did you slap him?”

“Because he deserved it. Or…I thought he did at the time.”

“Do I want to hear the whole story?” Onheil considered him for a moment before she shook her head.

“It’s nothing important. I over reacted.”

***

“Onheil?” Loki imagined tiny, hairline fissures over Steve’s face and neck and arms. He seemed to be splitting apart, at the limit of his composure. “Can you c’mere?” She glanced at the pictures on the rail at the side of the bed to figure out how to flip it down and perched on the edge. She barely leaned down when Steve’s arms enveloped her. She wormed her hands behind his torso to return the embrace and he pressed his face into her shoulder.

Loki wasn’t sure what to say or do for the trembling man in her arms. “The tac team. Did they make it out okay?”

“Yes, to my knowledge, they’re all fine.” She eased him up to sitting; let him lean his weight into her. She scratched the back of his head lightly. “I spoke to Sergeant Barnes, actually.” Steve made a choked sound. “Colonel Rhodes tracked him down. We spoke over a video link. He was very concerned for you. Seemed to admire you quite a bit.” He let out a huff of bitter sounding laughter. “Even asked me to send him a letter when you got home.” His arms tightened around her. “He stayed with you. While you were in surgery. His OC gave him permission. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah. Sort of. I-I-I thought…” He trailed off, either losing the thread or not wanting to continue.

She wished he would allow her to help him. To at least try. She was not sure she could fix the problem entirely; it wasn’t something she’d attempted seriously before. Healing herself was one thing. Healing another person of something as damaging was completely another. Loki considered simply doing it, regardless of his wishes. That would certainly upset the precarious balance of trust they’d built back up.

Steve pulled away, plunked back against the pillows. “I’m hungry.”

“Hello, Hungry, I’m Onheil. You look very much like my Steven.”

Steve gave her an incredulous look before breaking out into a grin. The nurse had returned with his roommate. The man was shuffling a little slower; his shoulders hunched a little more, like the walk had taken a lot out of him. Loki wondered what ailment or injury that he was being treated for. His hood was still pulled up over his head. “Did I hear someone say they were hungry?” The nurse’s smile was almost too bright and sunny. As if on cue, Steve’s stomach rumbled. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner…I’ll see what I can rustle up, though.” Steve thanked her. When she came back she had a plastic container in her hands. “How does a turkey sandwich sound?”

“Amazing.”

“Good. It was that or Jell-O. Pretty sure a big guy like you wouldn’t be satisfied with that.” She moved in on the opposite side o the bed and scooted the rolling table over Steve. She glanced at the dangling IV lines, picked one up with an accusatory look. “Did you—“

“I did.”

“You can’t—“

“Have a say in my own treatment?”

“Steve, that was rude.”

His cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It’s been a rough week, to say the least. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” The nurse crossed her arms, clearly not taking excuses. “I’m done with sedation. No more. You can tell the doc that. I promise I’ll behave. Just…just don’t put me under again.” His chin quivered. “It’s not a very fun place…inside my head.” The nurse nodded in understanding.

“Let me know if you need anything else. Just press the call button. I’ll answer over the speaker or pop in and see what’s up. And I’ll let your doctor know what’s going on. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you.”

“Thank you, really.”

Steve stared guiltily at the sandwich on the table in front of him. “Eat.”

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.” His stomach grumbled again.

“Steve, starving yourself isn’t going to rectify the situation. And you get…” She searched for the right word. “Hangry.”

“What?”

“Hangry. Angry when hungry. Clint says it’s a word. So does Drew.” She opened the container and pushed it closer to him. “C’mon, Mister _My metabolism is four times the average man’s._ Eat.” He picked up half and pushed the other toward her. “Nope, all yours. Pepper is continuing on her quest to make me no longer fit into those jeans you like so much. I’m still full from breakfast.” There was quiet snoring from the other side of the curtain that divided the room.

Steve’s doctor came in when he was finished eating. He spoke at length about the fact that Steve could not be reckless and do things on a whim while he was there. Loki could see it all going in one ear and out the other. The doctor went on to explain that his physical therapy would begin the following day. “If it’s at all possible, you should bring clothing for him. Sweatpants, tee shirts, that sort of thing. Easy to move in, comfortable, but still actual clothing. Helps encourage patients to get out of bed and get active. There’s no lollygagging here. Especially not if our end-goal is to get you back on your feet.”

“I don’t understand how you think you’re going to cure me of being paraplegic. Isn’t that the whole lynchpin of this thing? Permanent paralysis? There was someone…he…he played a superhero. Wasn’t he only ever able to move his finger?”

“Christopher Reeve. Superman. New York boy, just like you. His case is entirely different than yours. Entirely. He also didn’t have a scientifically enhanced genetic make-up. Although, to be honest, your initial symptoms were very similar, post-injury. Delirium, principally, which is one of the main reasons both the people in Germany and I had thought it necessary and healthy for both you and the safety those attending you to keep you under some level of sedation. You gave an aid over there a black eye, apparently. Your metabolism, of course, made that difficult. We’ve had you on quite a heavy dose of morphine. Someone actually suggested that something stronger would be more useful. No one was truly willing to risk that, though. Morphine was already contributing some to the severity of your delirium. Quite honestly, I’m surprised that you are as calm as you are now and that when you initially woke you did not act out.”

Steve’s eyes slid to Loki, his mouth twitching up into a ghost of a smile before his expression went stony again. “We’re actually drawing from Mr. Reeve’s theories about his own paralysis to try to help you. He believed that the nervous system could be helped to regenerate through intense physical therapy.” He shrugged. “With the serum, anything is possible. We’re not too worried about atrophy or anything of that sort, but we’d like to get you started as soon as possible.”

“How much do you know about the serum?”

The doctor grinned. “Honestly? I was part of a research team on it for some time. One of the reasons I was assigned to be your attending physician.”

“The Army’s been doing research?” Steve’s voice was full of concern.

“Oh gosh, you think we’re trying to build more super soldiers? Hell no. We don’t really hold out any sort of practical hope for replicating what Erksine did. But, if you remember, the SSR was part of the Army. And you gave a ton of blood back in the forties. Howard Stark thought it might be smart to put most of it in cryo-storage, made a special little vault for it, so that it could continue to be studied as technology advanced and more information in general was available about what makes up our genetic codes and the like. To be honest, our research has been far more geared toward developing treatments for the men and women who end up here. Understanding what makes up the super soldier, what makes you up, has been secondary. In the past, sure, people wanted hole armies of you. But it’s different now, the focus is elsewhere.”

“That’s…that’s actually really wonderful to hear.” He seemed to take a moment to steel his nerves. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“I…I take…I take medication. For…for post-traumatic, er, depression? Anxiety. I…it’s a lot.”

“Yes, we’ll get you started on a round of whatever anti-depressant you’re on. Not a problem at all. I just want to make sure the morphine is out of your system before then. I understand you’ve had complications?”

“It’s…I’m… SHIELD. Their science team. And my therapist. They made a special sort of inhaler thing for me? It’s tailored specifically to…me.”

“Ah. That adds some level of difficulty, doesn’t it? I’ll get in touch with Director Fury.”

Loki put a hand up, “You don’t have to. I have it.” Something had told her to bring it with her. She rummaged in her backpack and pulled it out. “This is it.”

The doctor took it from her. “I still need to make sure everything’s on the up and up. And we’ll have to keep this at the nurses’ station. Do you take this on a schedule or as needed?”

“Sort of both?”

“Well, it looks like I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He reminded Loki of when visiting hours ended and left the room.

“You okay?”

“I don’t want to do this.”

***

Bucky was falling.

Steve was falling.

Onheil was pulling a trigger. Shooting an arrow. Throwing a knife. Blowing a hole in the side of the train with a burst of green-gold energy.

He was trapped in the ice maze. There was blood. So much blood. A trail of it through the snow at his feet. The sound of a gunshot rang out and echoed through the endless halls. The walls splintered and cracked and the shards rained down on him.

He was small and cold and alone.

He couldn’t get up. His thin arms didn’t have the strength to pull his body forward through the field of icy daggers around him.

Steve woke up drenched in sweat and feeling frozen to the core. He wanted to get up and take the hottest shower he could tolerate.

But he couldn’t.

Reality crashed in around him like thousands of shards of ice.

“Hey. Are you okay over there?” A voice in the darkness called out, mellow and baritone.

“No. I-I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Ah, wasn’t asleep anyway. You need somebody?”

If only the answer to that question was easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very little forward movement in this one. I'm sorry. I didn't want to throw up a huge chapter with all of Steve's therapy and healing and all of that. Too overwhelming. I also wanted to explore more of Steve being firm and saying "no" and not just going with things because it's the easiest, least stressful route. I'll explore it a little bit more later on, for sure.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. I'd also like to direct you to this post on Onheil's blog:  
> http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/post/91515312945
> 
> It'll be fun. Go do it.


	76. Sort of Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Loki deal with the aftermath of Steve's diagnosis.

Staff Sergeant Bennett was an interesting character. "But, wait, I don't know anything about you!" Steve chuckled as he spoke through the curtain to his roommate. "You know all about me, it's not fair!"

"Dude, you're an integral part of American history. Every kid learns about you in school. Part of our history exam in training is a whole unit on the Howling Commandos. Do you realize how much your tactical planning and general...awesome...has influenced the rest of us? It would look pretty bad on my part if I didn't know all about you, brother."

Steve grinned to himself. He was enjoying the camaraderie. It felt good. Almost as good as being out in the field had felt. "I won't lie. That really is just the slightest bit creepy."

"Well, it didn't seem creepy when you were, you know, dead."

Steve sighed. "I guess so. But still, I want to know about you. I've been told I've got quite the talent for being a persistent little shit. I can make life pretty miserable when I don't get my way." Bennett snorted out a laugh and muttered something about how this couldn't be real life.

"Alright. Well, where do want me to start?"

"The beginning. That's always a good place."

"Okay, then. I was born on the family farm in Kentucky--"

"Not that far back."

He laughed. "I'm just yankin' your chain, Captain." Steve insisted he just call him by name. "Alright, Steve--Christ, that's weird--Ah, where to start? I guess, I joined up after I realized I wasn't going to be able to afford to pay for college. Made it a few semesters before the money ran out. Parents own some property so at the time I couldn't really get a loan. I worked some security jobs; I'd been in the Emergency Management degree track. Really wanted to be a big city cop. Or, you know, like Grimes. That fucker kicks some ass." He trailed off, grew quiet for a few long seconds. "Anyway, joined up. Went through basic, all that, kind of immediately got dropped over there when I finished."

"Where's over there?"

"Afghanistan. You were just there, weren't you?" Steve made a sound of confirmation and Bennett continued. "My unit did route clearance. Checking spots out for IEDs and stuff to make sure the roads are safe. You'd think it's an easy job. I guess it is to some extent, sort of more focused? But some of the units had a fifty-fifty rate."

"What does that mean?"

"Half the time they found the device, half the time the device found them. It's dangerous. But if you've got the right equipment, you're pretty well protected. I only got blown up once." 

"Oh?" Granted, Bennett was a little bit like the Wizard of Oz. He stayed behind the curtain. When he came out, he always had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up. His shoulders were always hunched, head always tilted down. But he looked, from what Steve could see, whole--not  _blown up_.

"Yeah. I don't actually remember what happened, honestly. They told me I pushed my buddy out of the way. Keep telling me what a heroic thing it was, but you know, if that's what happened--why wouldn't I push him out of the way? I don't think it's anything to get excited over." Steve could hear Bennett shifting in bed, the plastic-covered mattress crinkling and the quiet whirr of the motor that adjusted the angle. "Long story short: Got burned pretty bad. Full of shrapnel. Ton of surgery. Been in recovery for a while. Just kind of want to get home, you know?" He did know. He'd given anything to be back in Brooklyn, in his own bed. "My wife found out she was pregnant after I'd shipped out for this tour."

"That's something to look forward to."

"Yeah. Little girl. Goddamned butterball. Eyelashes for days.  Stubby little fingers and toes." He paused. "She's fucking perfect. Haven't gotten to see her in person yet, though." There was a long stretch of silence. Bennett slept a lot. He seemed to tire himself out with long conversations or walks with the nurse or his short PT sessions. Steve was beginning to assume that he'd fallen asleep. As he reached toward his tray table to drag it closer, sketchbook and a box of pencils shifting as it moved, Bennett cleared his throat. "You've got no clue what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Tiny human. Half your DNA."

"Smart ass." Steve chuckled. "I meant Grimes. You probably don't know who that is."

"Sheriff. Father to Little Ass Kicker and Carl. Husband of Lori. Best friend and rival of Shane."

"Captain America watches  _The Walking Dead_. Who'd a'thunk it?"

"Onheil started watching it as a joke, long story. Glen's my favorite."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Steve chuckled; Onheil had said much the same. "You know, I would have never pegged you for watching actual shows, let alone science fiction. I would have thought you just kind of watched CNN all the time, told kids to get off your lawn during commercials."

Steve's lips spread into a soft smile as he thumbed open his sketchbook and turned to a rough outline of Bennett's figure. "A lot of people think that." He scratched at the paper with a dull pencil. "That I'm a hundred years old and trapped in a young body...like a vampire or something. But for me, all that time didn't pass. I'm still just a kid from Brooklyn. Or, well, a pushing-thirty guy from Brooklyn. Everyone is surprised that I enjoy shows like that, or that I've heard of Lady Gaga, or can use a cell phone." He set the pencil down carefully so it didn't roll off the table. "I'm not senile."

There was a long stretch of silence again. Steve felt guilty, felt like he'd scolded Bennett for making a harmless joke. He'd ruined it. The serum made the good better and the bad worse. Evidently he had a super-sized talent for putting his foot in his damned mouth. "You do this thing, you know."

"What?"

"You smile when something upsets you."

He furrowed his brow. "We've never spoken face to face, how would you know that?"

"See that on the wall?"

"The poster?" There was a large, framed poster on the wall detailing patient rights. It was just slightly more to his side of the room and provided a perfect reflection. Steve narrowed his eyes. "I take it back. Studying me wasn't creepy. That is." He pointed at the frame before breaking out into a grin, unable to stop the belly laugh that rolled out of him. Bennett laughed along until he made a pained sound and shifted in his bed gain. Steve watched as his stocking feet swung down and hit the floor, shuffled forward. His fingers curled around the edge of the curtain and pulled it back. Hood up. Head down. His other hand came out of his pocket and produced a battered wallet-sized photo.

"That's Squish."

Steve took the photo hesitantly and looked at the pudgy, sleeping infant. "She's beautiful. What's her name?"

"Squish." Steve shook his head, insisted that he was pretty sure any sane woman wouldn't allow that. "I don't want to say it until I get to see her for real." Steve nodded and handed the photo back. "And  _that_  is creepy." Bennett's finger jabbed the air in front of the sketchbook.

***

Loki strode down the steps listening to the satisfying _thunk_ of his shoes and the end of the scepter against the pavement. The Captain was standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting. His plump lips were spread into an amused smile; his blue eyes sparkled mischievously in the lamplight. He pulled off his helmet, pushed down his cowl. "Where's your armor?" Loki raised a brow, one side of his mouth quirking upward as his lush suit and coat became his leathers and boots and helmet. The Captain shook his head, his sweat-damp hair flopping with the motion. Loki's breath caught in his chest as the Captain reached out with his big, warm hand and the calloused fingers settled around the back of his neck. The Captain's thumb rubbed firm circles at the base of Loki's scull, just up under his helmet. The Captain craned his neck upward, leaned close. His breath was warm and humid against Loki's neck. "Not this. This isn't you." A strangled sound escaped Loki's lips as the Captain's pressed against his skin. "Not anymore." The green and gold ornament, the soft leather gave way to sleek, firm Kevlar and elegantly worked metal.

The Captain pulled back as if to survey the change. His fingers hooked into the utility belt, the gesture both affectionate and possessive. "Looks just as good." Loki felt foolish as his face flushed with color; conscious of the close fit of the catsuit, wondering if it was how the Captain felt in his spangly attire; remembering his own jests during that other lifetime. "Suits you well."

"Aren't we just ever so complementary tonight?" He shifted his weight, feeling the satisfying pull of the holster against his thigh and the hard rub of the blade sheathed in his boot.

The Captain shrugged and used his hold on the belt to yank Loki forward. The Captain kissed him slowly, seriously. The Captain kissed him hot. The Captain kissed him wet. The Captain kissed him open. "Where were you?" He murmured. Loki asked what he meant. "When I needed you. Where were you?" Loki felt pressure against his throat, felt the hard metal of the gorget crunching against his airway.

"No." He croaked.

"Where were you?"

The vambrace crunched against his arm.

"Where were you?!" The Captain's eyes were alight with anger and hurt. His lips twitched down in disappointment. A shot rang out. He fell.

Loki woke with a start. The sheets were tangled around her legs. Her hair slick with sweat and wrapped around her throat. Her heart thundered in her chest. She took a moment to orient herself, panic running through her at the large and unfamiliar bed. Stark's residence. Washington DC. Pepper asleep in the next room. The clock at the bedside told her it was only three-thirty. She knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. Laying there on the damp sheets in the dark, hermetically sealed room would only frustrate her as it had done every night since she arrived.

She'd had nightmares in New York. None had felt as tangible. None had been in Germany.

She tried to reason with herself as she slipped quietly into the cavernous bathroom. It was because she had finally laid eyes and hands on Steve. She was sure of it. As maddening as the mystery had been, it was safer. Seeing him broken had rocked the precarious balance she had managed to develop. She felt herself teetering closer to the edge each time she walked into his room and he smiled up at her. It wasn't a genuine smile. It was the expression he made when he painted on his mask. It was the expression of a person who had given up.

She stripped out of the tee shirt and underwear she had worn to bed and stepped into the shower that was more like a small room. She turned the hot water up and sat down heavily on the tiled seat built into the wall, head in her hands. She let out a manic little giggle when she thought of all the reasons to have a shower this large and ostentatious.

She sat under the spray of the water until her skin was bright pink. She closed her eyes as the water hit her, calling up the image of the man in the underground base. Her handprint burned into his flesh. The satisfying slip of her blade into his side. She couldn't shake the feeling of deja vu but couldn’t place where the familiarity lay.

_Hey Ygritte. Send me a selfie so I know ur alive._

_Shut up, birdbrain. Stop calling me that._

_Ooo. That stung, little wildling._

_Idiot. You know nothing, Clint Barton. What can you possibly want from me at four AM?_

_I have it on good authority that ur an insomniac._

_And that's has relevance bc?_

_Just wanted to talk. How r u?_

_Fine._

_Sure u r. I'm here, u know._

_In Stark's fancy guestroom? Hiding in the closet?_

_U know what I mean. How's Cap?_

_I need more than 600 characters for that._

_Call?_

_No. How are you?_

_Deaf. Tired of life. The usual._

Over the time that she had been away from New York, Barton had slowly given her more information about his condition. Bolstering his confidence had been a good distraction from her own troubles. He was dealing with it. The dog seemed to be far smarter than Clint gave him credit for--alerting him to a knock at the door or the beep of the coffee pot or stove, the ringing of his cell phone when he stubbornly left the device they had provided him with turned off or out of his ear. It reminded her of the dogs Steve had interacted with at the beginning of...whatever this was that they had.

Mostly, it was just nice to hear the sound of his gravelly voice as he chattered on about  _Dance Moms_  and how he thought Chloe would have been equally as capable of performing for that music video and it was a travesty that she wasn't getting jobs.

Loki sat on the floor in front of the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to make up all of Stark's residential holdings. When Pepper had mentioned a company condo, she had pictured something far more sedate and utilitarian. The dwelling had turned out to be the penthouse of the building it was contained in and was decorated in a very similar manner to Stark Tower. It was maddening. She sat staring out at the encroaching dawn, wishing she could open the window and feel the morning breeze against her skin. She felt caged. She wondered if Stark's bodiless servant was watching her, reporting back to him. She didn't think that Stark would trust her alone with someone as precious to him as Pepper obviously was, considering whatever he knew or thought he knew.

What would she have done before? When she felt caged? When she was frightened? When she felt small and cold and alone? Before. When she was a prince. A Sorcerer. A god. She would have run. Not away. Just to a different place. She would have pulled off her shoes and run from the palace. Into the gardens. Into the wood. She would have clung to the curve of a branch like the secure space in a mother's arms. She would have lain in a field of tall grass to feel the throb of life and magic in the earth beneath her. She would have dove into the sea and let herself sink until her lungs burned. She would have come back. She would have taken matters into her hands and settled them the way she saw fit--damn anyone who told her she was wrong, who told her no. She would have been ridiculed and ostracized and shot full of words like barbs. But she would have solved the problem. Things would have been better.

When she could flex her power.

When she didn't have to hide who she was.

When she didn't have to hide.

When she wasn't as good as Barton's damned dog. Just sitting with her head in Steve's lap making moony eyes at him and telling him everything would be okay.

 _I need you fiery._  Sigyn would be disappointed.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. "Perhaps today he will come to his senses," she mumbled to herself.

But the day with Steve would never come. Loki cringed as the screen of her SHIELD phone blazed to life and the device threatened to vibrate off the edge of the desk. "Agent Ferguson." Loki greeted Coulson with forced cheer. He'd been hinting at wanting her to come into the Triskelion building. She was avoiding the notion like the plague. Being a regular fixture at the New York headquarters was dangerous enough. It was full of scientists and spies and agents. It housed Hill and Fury. It accommodated the Avengers. But there was nothing like keeping your enemies, or at least potential enemies, close. The Washington headquarters were a whole other realm of danger. It housed a fleet of Furies. A platoon of Hills. There were Spiders hiding in every corner. Her information came from Barton. For someone who was meant to be discrete, he was talkative when he deemed you trustworthy enough. At least about details he didn't think were compromising or significant. Washington was home to the country's governmental epicenter. As such, the people at the Triskelion held far more influence and power than those in any other main branch. The mood was different. Evidently even Hill and Fury seemed to transform in the setting. More guarded. More calculating. A wrong move anyplace else was redeemable. A wrong move there could mean dropping off the face of the earth. "How are you doing today?"

"Quite well, Phil. I was on my way out to see Captain Rogers. Is there something you'd like me to pass along?"

"Other than the usual sentiments, no."

"Then might I ask what this is about?"

"You won't be going to the hospital today, Onheil. You'll be coming over to SHIELD."

"There's really no need, Phil. There's been no renewed threat. Nothing more I can offer on the subject of our last operation, nor the previous. There has been no new word on the draugr situation from Asgard. You have no use for me."

"This isn't me asking you to come in. This is me telling you."

"With all do respect, Agent Coulson, you may technically be my supervisor but I have no reason to take orders from you right now. My contract was very specific."

Coulson made a frustrated sound. "Ferguson, Secretary Pierce wants you in here. Within the hour, preferably.”

"Did he take my threat to put his eye out seriously? Shall I just apologize to whomever is listening in now and be done with it?"

"No, he didn't take you seriously. Believe it or not, he can actually tell when someone is being dramatic and sarcastic."

"I'm wounded, Phil."

"I'll be by to pick you up in twenty." Coulson ended the call without further comment. Loki tossed the SHIELD phone onto the bed, pleased when it bounced and skidded and hit the floor on the other side. "Hey, Lovebug." His voice was gravelly, the tempo slowed the way it was after he'd had an exceptionally restless night. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"Then what's up? You don't usually call." There was a muffled voice in the background, rustling as Steve probably covered the mouthpiece of the phone to answer. "Bennett says hello and wants to know if he can make a food request?"

"Of course." It had been the only concession Steve would allow. Not something that would actually help, like allowing her to attempt to heal his injuries or speed along the process. He agreed to her bringing in food from the outside. So she had thrown herself into it full-force. She acquainted herself with the local Whole Foods, farmers markets, any place she could pickup something more interesting or flavorful than what he was getting at the hospital.

“Peaches. If you can get them.”

“No problem. I twill have to wait, though. I don’t think that I’ll be able to come see you today.”

“Is there something wrong? You sound upset.”

“No, not upset. Just annoyed. Coulson is coming to fetch me.”

“What did you do?”

“I think it may or may not have something to do with threatening, albeit jokingly, to put out the Secretary of Defense’s eye?”

“Onheil.” Steve’s tone was scolding. “I keep telling you, you have to develop some kind of filter.”

“Hypocrite.”

“Hey, when I have to be professional, I have one. You’ll be fine. Just follow Phil’s lead. He won’t let anything bad happen. And I probably won’t be in the room much today anyway.”

“Why? Has something happened?”

“No, nothing. I mean, I guess. Sort of. I felt it when they poked the bottom of my foot with a pen. So they’re throwing me in the MRI again, picking up the pace with the PT.” It had been a long time. It was wonderful news. Loki would much rather be at the hospital.

“I have to go. I will see you tomorrow. With peaches.”

The ride to the Triskelion was made in uncomfortable silence. Loki finally broke it in the elevator. “Do you have any idea what he wants?”

“Honestly, no. But I’m leaning toward it having something to do with the op you guys just finished. Your first one wasn’t even on his radar, but since this involved the military, Pierce was involved in planning and approval.”

“Does he think I am a failure as well?”

“What?” Coulson turned a confused look on her. “No one thinks you failed.”

“I failed to keep my team alive and unharmed. There are three dead. One deaf. One paralyzed. Both damaged in ways we cannot see.”

“Onheil, none of that is your fault.”

“So you say.”

The man standing in front of the bank of windows in the important looking office wasn’t nearly as imposing or as intimidating as Loki imagined he would be. He certainly didn’t cut the same figure as Fury. He raised his head, watching Loki and Coulson’s reflection in the highly polished glass of the window. “Ah. Agent Ferguson.” The smile he cast on her as he turned his body was unsettling, almost predatory, stopping just short of his eyes. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

He took a hand out of his pocket and held it out to her. “And I’ve heard virtually nothing about you.” She could practically feel Coulson cringe beside her.

“You’ve certainly got…spunk.”

She didn’t like his tone. Two could play at that game. “If we’re finished with pleasantries, I’d like to know why I’ve been called here.”

Pierce’s mouth twitched. His eyes flicked up toward Coulson. “I’ll be with Hill if you need anything, sir.” He ducked out the door, leaving Loki alone with the Secretary.

Pierce narrowed his eyes at Loki as the door slipped closed on silent hinges and the latched clicked shut. He gestured toward the narrow seat in front of his desk. Loki huffed out a short laugh. It was the same trick Fury employed—leave the person on the other side of the wide executive desk feeling small and uncomfortable. A power play. Childish. “Is something funny?”

Her lips curled into the slightest hint of a smile. “No, sir, not at all.” She sank down elegantly into the seat she was offered and looked up at Pierce as he perched at the edge of the desk, effectively towering over her.

“Nick tolerates your attitude?”

“I hold the firm personal belief that Director Fury is secretly very amused by my attitude.”

“Well, there must be a good agent under that snark somewhere.”

“Ah yes, very deep down, I’d suspect.”

“That would explain why three of your own are dead.” She felt her nostrils flare of their own accord. “One of our best covert operatives is deaf. And a _national treasure_ ,” he spat the words out, filled with venom, “is lying in a hospital bed, useless.” Loki felt her face heat. Steve was not useless. His physical presence was nothing compared to his mental acuity. He could talk circles around even her at times. He could assess situations quickly. He thought on his feet. He could do _so much more_ than what these people clearly thought of him. Pierce huffed out an amused sound of his own. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss.” He rose and took his time walking to his chair. He sat down deliberately and tented his fingers under his chin, narrowing his eyes at Loki, studying her, making her wait. She smoothed her expression into a neutral mask, did her best to arrange her limbs into a casual formation. “I want to know about the man who you encountered. He seemed to give you a run for your money. If what Nick says about your skills is to be believed, I find that surprising. He must have been very powerful.”

“I was given to believe that information regarding my movements in Afghanistan were classified.” Fury talked about her to this man? Why?

“Oh, honey.” She was beginning to re-think the notion of putting one eye out. Two might be better. Or cutting his tongue out of his head. That would be entertaining. She settled for raising an eyebrow, turning her expression bored. “Nothing is classified when you have the right cards, Agent Ferguson.” He let his chair tip back slightly, folding one leg over the other. He drummed his fingers against his ankle as he spoke. “Tell me about him. I know the basics from the file. Muscular build. Metal arm. Used a blade, a firearm, and hand to hand fairly effectively.”

“Clearly not effectively enough.”

“And neither were you. Clearly.” That predatory smile returned to his lips. His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Give me the play-by-play. In detail. We need to know what we’re up against if we’re going to adapt our forces to fight against this...”

“Weapon. He was a weapon.”

“Weapon.”

“Yes.”

Loki did not like this man. She did not trust him as far as she could throw him. No, she didn’t trust him as far as Coulson could throw him. Which was still a decent way, the agent’s physical appearance hid remarkable strength and agility. She told him no more or less than she had told Agent Hill. She left details vague. Claimed to not be able to remember. It was too much of a blur. She was just a woman; she wasn’t a seasoned agent like Romanov.

“But you _are_ some kind of mutant, no? You have _powers_?”

Loki cringed inwardly, “Yes.”

“And still, you didn’t…couldn’t take this…weapon out?”

“No.” Didn’t. Not couldn’t.

“Interesting.” He rose from his seat and went to gaze out the window once again, turning his back on her but still clearly watching her reflection. “What kind of damage were you able to inflict?”

“I stabbed him in the side. Not much more that would have been substantial.” Pierce made a thoughtful sound.

He questioned her for a while longer, slipping in queries about her private life as if trying to make small talk around discussing a covert operation against an international terrorist organization. He reminded her of Odin.

He reminded her of herself.

Slick with his words, dancing around nuance.

This was a dangerous man.

His hand fell to the small of her back as he guided her to the door, the gesture far too familiar for their acquaintance. “Do give Captain Rogers my regards.” Loki nodded and slipped through the door, feeling as though she needed to shower again.

***

Alexander watched her walk down the hall. Her stride was purposeful, her boots making soft sounds against the floor. She held her head high and her shoulders square and straight. Reminded him of Hill or Romanov—trying to prove herself in a world she clearly didn’t belong in. When she boarded the elevator he let his door fall shut and strode back to the window. He’d been restless. Hearing the story from Ferguson didn’t quell the feeling at all.

He slipped his cell phone from his pocket and inserted a device that would hide the signal from the local towers in the SD slot. “I want the asset brought here for re-conditioning.”

“With all due respect, _sir_ , that can be achieved here. Your presence is not necessary. I created the asset. I am more than capable of managing it.”

“Do you remember who is funding this little program? Who’s been funding it for decades?”

“You, Secretary.”

“Bring it here.”

***

“Agent Ferguson. Destination?”

“I…” Why had she not actually listened to Coulson? “Agent Hill’s office?”

The disembodied voice responded with a floor number. Loki shrugged and acknowledged it. “Confirmed.” She wondered briefly if JARVIS worked the same way—by biometric recognition—or if Stark’s AI recognized people in some other manner. It seemed intelligent. It made friendly banter. It wasn’t like the lifeless servant’s voice that announced that they were at the floor Loki had selected by default. Hill’s office was relatively easy to find, doors marked with names and ranks and departments in the same way they were in New York.

“Have fun with the Secretary?” Maria raised a brow and slowly looked up from the computer screen she was working on. Coulson had stepped out to take a call from Agent May.

“No. I feel very much like I need to shower again.”

Maria’s lips quirked up on one side into a smile, “Should I tell Steve he’s got competition?” Loki snorted out a laugh. She liked Maria. The woman had a sense of humor and seemed to know exactly when to use it to lighten a situation. “Didn’t think Pierce would get to you.”

“He’s…”

“A lot.”

“Indeed. Does he act that way with everyone?”

“Only people who have information he wants. Did you give him what he wanted?”

Loki pursed her lips and sank into onto the couch along the wall opposite Hill’s desk. “No.”

“Good. We want to keep this as much on a need-to-know as possible. Did Phil brief you?” Loki shook her head, admitting she’d largely not wanted to listen even if he had tried. Maria frowned. “I know you don’t want to be here, you’d rather be with Steve. Heck, I’d rather be with Steve. But this is important.” Loki nodded, waited for Maria to rise and join her on the opposite end of the sleek, modern seat, and listened to the quiet _woosh_ of air from the leather cushion. “Did anyone on your team act…oddly?”

“Other than Ward’s general surly attitude?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Maria’s frown deepened, lines forming on her forehead as she furrowed her brow. “You interacted with the tac team, right?” She had, if briefly. “You’re pretty perceptive. What was your impression there?” Loki shrugged; they seemed not much different than the agents she had met during her time at SHIELD, if a little rougher around the edges. More Barton, less Romanov. Maria chuckled at the comparison. “It just doesn’t make sense.”

“What?”

Hill paused. Loki imagined she could see the gears turning over rapidly in the woman’s head. She breathed in and out purposefully before speaking. “The jacket Captain Rogers was wearing.” Loki understood that the ceramic plates inside had shattered when the bullet struck him, both the round and the shards creating a wound and damaging his spinal cord. “When our forensic people looked at it; when they compared it to the standard issue gear the rest of the team was using—it wasn’t the same. The materials were sub par. Not the right weave or proper thickness.”

“Wouldn’t someone have noticed? Wouldn’t Steve have noticed?”

“Not necessarily. The differences were subtle. It wasn’t gear Steve was familiar with either. He hasn’t worked with modern military gear, just what SHIELD outfitted him with for the Chitauri invasion.”

“So, this could have been an accident of some sort?” Loki refused to admit the alternative.

“I don’t think so. Considering whoever the sniper was went only for him? Directly for him when there was probably just as clear a shot on the others by Barton’s evaluation. We think it was purposeful.” She paused, gauging Loki’s reaction, studying the careful mask Loki maintained. “You’re close to Steve, closer than he lets anyone. Only other person who was able to form any sort of substantial relationship with him since he thawed was Natasha. If someone is trying to take him out—and they’re going to realize pretty soon that they failed, considering the report I got from his medical team this morning—they may try to get to him through other avenues. Through the other Avengers. Through you.” Loki scoffed; she spoke to hardly anyone outside of SHIELD. Her guard was up, constantly. She was still hiding, living anonymously, and avoiding being found by her family from _Arizona._ “That’s part of the problem.”

“You think the enemy is amongst us.” Maria’s grim expression was confirmation enough. Loki’s blood began to boil.

***

Steve’s days has blurred together. There was the constant up and down, the dragging of his body back and forth from his room to physical therapy. They worked his legs, his core, his arms. He noticed his stomach softening, minutely, something no one else would notice that had not seen the hard planes of his post-serum body every day for years. Too much food—Onheil’s fault—and not enough strenuous physical activity, even with his miracle metabolism. “They do feed me, you know.”

“Says the man who can eat an entire pizza on his own. Clearly not enough. Your stomach is always rumbling at me.”

“Maybe I’m just hungry for _you._ ”

“You’re awful at jokes, Steve.” Her face had softened into something resembling a smile and she’d pushed the bag of dried apple slices back toward him.

At scheduled intervals Steve found himself subjected to electric impulses. The thought, at first, had horrified him—the image of Onheil’s limp body in the feed from the eyeglass camera in Istanbul immediately coming to mind along with the guilt and anger over what she and Clint had been subjected to. His fears turned out to be misplaced, thankfully. Just gentle impulses, targeting the damaged nerves, trying to get them to respond.

Eventually, he found he could feel changes in temperature. The hard way.

They were trying everything, hoping to get some kind of response or strength from his legs, hoping that he might be able to at least support himself. “Hydrotherapy!” Steve had been bored out of his mind, not much choice but to sit and listen to his therapists’ round-table meeting. They’d put him into a seat at the table, watching him carefully, as if he would have made a break for it if left in the wheelchair. They were right. He would have. He was tired of all of this. Done.

“ _What?_ ” An image of having a bucket of ice water dumped over him while he sat in his shorts in a copper tub flashed through his mind. He clenched his teeth, remembering the inability to stop trembling, the loss of feeling in his fingers and toes, and how wide his mother’s eyes went when she saw the particular shade of blue his lips had turned.

“We can use the buoyancy of the water to support your body, take the stress off the muscles and joints.”

“That might work.”

“Could we couple it with cryotherapy? Two birds with one stone in terms of testing theories?” The lead therapist glanced at Steve. The horror on his face must have been evident. The suggestion was shot down.

He was in the water for a few minutes before he really felt it. He didn’t take cool or cold showers. He didn’t particularly like to be in swimming pools, no matter how much Natasha tried to coax him in further than dangling his feet or to play chicken at the Tower when Tony rounded everyone up during the summer. Cold water held no pleasant feelings or memories for him.

So when he felt the coolness against his skin, when the therapists moved his body through the water to his chest, he started to panic. His heart thundered in his ears. He gripped the hands guiding him with breaking force. “Ow! Steve! Stop!” He struggled to draw in enough air, the terror of a particularly severe asthma attack washing over him. “Steve!” There were hands on his face, making him look at the petite woman in front of him, water practically up to her neck. He was clenching his jaw too tightly, couldn’t make himself speak. “Captain, what’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

“Out. OUT. _Outoutoutout._ ” Being pulled out of the pool was a blur. His shorts and undershirt stuck to his body, ringing wet. He imagined it might be hard to move. If he could. He was constantly amazed by the multiple abilities of all of the doctors and therapists there. After working him through the panic attack and confirming that he could indeed take an extra dose of his medication, he was settled back into bed. His eyes burned. Throat raw. Face flushed. He could feel beads of sweat running down the back of his head like tiny insects creeping over his skin.

The petite woman coaxed an explanation out of him. “It’s important, Steve. We’ll get you into an MRI as soon as we can to see what’s up, but I need you to describe what was going on. Was it a flashback? Were you physically hurting?”

“Cold. I can’t do cold. No cold.”

She cocked her head and smiled. He watched as a droplet of water slid off of the end of her braid and spread out against the cotton of her scrub shirt. Temperatures were progress. Temperatures were a good thing. A very good thing. And any future attempts with hydrotherapy would be made in a warm bath rather than the cooler pool.

Onheil had appeared around dinnertime with something that smelled heavenly brought at Pepper’s insistence. She had dragged the armchair from Bennett’s side of the room over and insisted he share the meal with them because when had he last had anything home-cooked and dammit they had reasons to celebrate.

“She’s like your Patronus.”

“My what?” Steve turned his face toward the sound of Bennett’s voice in the darkness. They’d been lying there in silence for hours. Neither one able to sleep. Neither one willing to acknowledge they wanted to talk. Neither one wanting to turn on a light and alert the passing nurses to their troubles.

He made a _swoosh_ noise and the blankets ruffled like he had moved his arms. “Expecto patronum! You know. Hogwarts stuff.”

“Oh, I get it.” He’d seen the movies. There had been a marathon. Onheil had coerced him into watching it with her. _But, Steve, magic._ “Not sure what you mean, though.”

“She’s like a light. She’s the light that chases away the bad things.” His fatigue-rough voice sounded oddly childish. “Expecto patronum. Poof. No more Dementors.”

“She says I’m Peeta Mellark.”

“Oh, God, my niece is obsessed with those books.” Steve chuckled. “Why does she say that?”

“We work together sometimes.” Bennett had gathered that from people occasionally addressing her as _Agent Ferguson_. “She didn’t want me on her team. She said I was a liability because I was Peeta Mellark.”

“Have you read those books?” Evidently Bennett was close to the niece who had. She’d dragged him along to the midnight release of the first movie, insisted they wear shirts of her own making with the District 12 seal painted carefully on them.

“No, I’ve seen the movies.”

“Well, the books are better.” Steve teased him. The tough military man reading young adult fiction. “Well, Kay’s got me wrapped around her damned finger, what can I say? But really, read ‘em. You’ll get it.” Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to get it. He’d only proved her right. He’d been a liability. He’d gotten himself hurt, his teammates nearly killed.

Steve’s doctors continued to get excited. He could feel cold. After testing the theory, they found he could feel heat. After that, they started poking him. Repeatedly. When he expected it. When he didn’t. Soles of his feet. Flanks. Thighs. Shins. Back. He wondered if this was how Bruce felt. Having the outer limits of his tolerance constantly tested, fighting back the urge to lash out.

Sometimes, they all seemed as frustrated as he was. “But you’re supposed to have super healing!” One of the docs, a harried-looking bespectacled little man who was the lead neurologist for his case, was speaking. He’d smacked his hand down against the conference table at what felt like the thousandth round-table meeting about his recovery. Steve was learning to hate these meetings. At least Phil or Maria was usually there. They were sympathetic. They advocated for him when he found that he couldn’t do it himself. He felt forever indebted to them. They were doing more than just acting as high-level agents protecting an asset.

“People think that. A lot.” When he was asked about his healing factor, for him, it brought to mind images of Logan—back in the day, in the heat of battle or around a fire as they set up camp for the night—expelling bullets from his flesh as if by sheer will-power, scratches and cuts sealing up nearly as fast as they were inflicted by the sharp edge of a bayonet in close combat. “It’s not super. Just…accelerated. Enhanced. The serum didn’t turn me into a super-human. It turned me into a person in peak physical condition, made my body more efficient, stronger, faster. I don’t have instantaneous healing. I get hurt. Broken bones, cuts, bruises, gunshot wounds…they’re all pretty survivable, I can recover pretty quickly, but it still takes time.”

Hill’s lips were pursed the way she pursed them when she got whiff of one of the agents-in-training writing checks with their mouth that their asses couldn’t cover. “Your original evaluation was that he may never have feeling in or use of his lower body ever again—an evaluation you would have given anyone else. You all had some hope, some excited theories that because of the Super Serum, that he may recover. For any other person, you would have done therapy to ensure the thinking, trained him up on using a wheelchair, and taught him how to modify his lifestyle. Quite frankly, we believe that Captain Rogers’ progress thus far is nothing short of a miracle. So now, my suggestion is that you should stop whining about how long that progress is taking and start focusing on doing your job.” Steve suppressed a smile. Maria was terrifying when she used that tone. It was the same cool, calm, even tone that his mother had used when he got into an exceptional bit of trouble as a kid.

There was no further mention of his healing factor after that.

Maybe Maria was a Patronus, too.

“I don’t know that I want to do this anymore.” Cooper had flown in from New York. Cleared his calendar, he said. Cancelled all his other obligations, he said. Steve was important, he said. Steve’s well being. Steve’s health. Steve’s clarity. But all Steve felt was chaos.

The psychologist gripped the cap of his pen between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Why?” Steve was tired. Restless. “That’s not why. Don’t lie to yourself. Or to me. Not fair to either one of us, and it’s not going to help you. We’ve been through this, Steve.”

“I don’t want to continue physical therapy. I want to stop. I don’t want any more treatment.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to be Captain America anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I fail every important mission.”

“That’s bullshit, Steve, and you know it.”

“I keep getting the people I love hurt, keep putting them in danger. I can't connect with anyone the same way I connected with the Commandos. I’m a _liability_.”

Cooper sighed and shifted in his chair, uncrossing his legs and crossing them again in the opposite direction.

***

“Hey, Nat.”

“Maria, what’s up? You don’t usually call from a non-SHIELD number.”

“This is non-SHIELD business.”

“Alright.”

“Interrogations are moving forward?”

“Yes. We’re not going to get anything more, though.”

“That’s fine, never expected them to give us too much.”

“I thought you said this was non-SHIELD business.”

“How’s Barton doing?”

“Better. He’s leaving the loft. Signed up for an ASL class. Keeps the dog close by. Doesn’t trust the hearing aids yet.”

“At least the sign language is something.”

Natasha snorted in amusement, “He’s awful at it. He’ll get there though. I’ll give you one guess what his favorite sign is.”

“I bet it’s a single-fingered salute.”

Natasha missed this easy banter. She missed the people she’d grown friendly with. She missed the Steve that could match her joke for joke; even if that Steve was wound so damned tightly he might pop. “So what do you need? Super secret side mission? Is it the Widow you need or Delta?”

“Neither. I need the ghost.” Natasha stopped walking, letting people bump her from either side as they pushed past on the stairs to the subway. “Final ballistics report came back on the bullet they pulled out of Rogers. Ran every test they could think of just to be sure. Couldn’t get any sort of usable information to trace it to a specific source. Only match was to a few other cases with similar difficulties.”

“And?” Natasha’s stomach flipped over. She knew what the answer would be.

“Soviet made. No rifling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here.
> 
> As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	77. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki sees through Steve's evasive maneuvers, as creative as they may be.

“I think it’s time to start talking about releasing you, Steve.”

Steve gave the doctor an incredulous look. He wasn’t sure whether the urge to laugh or cry or throw up or pass out—or some amalgamation of all three—was the most overwhelming.

“You have to set goals for yourself,” Cooper had said. “Things to help you get through the day, the week, whatever.”

“I want to be home for my birthday. The fireworks are gonna be on the East River this year. It’ll be like…” His eyes stung. He didn’t finish his thought.

“Fireworks?” Cooper studied him in confusion for a moment. “Oh! Fourth of July.” He chuckled. “I forgot about that.”

Steve blinked rapidly, trying to clear the moisture from his eyes before it fell. “Yeah, unfortunately, not every cheesy Captain America factoid is actually made up.”

He worked hard. He pushed himself to the limits of his own patience and tolerance and then prodded that self-imposed invisible membrane.

He drove his therapists up the wall.

“Rogers! Take it easy! You’re going to hurt yourself. Then we’ll be back at square one.” He pushed.

And now that it was finally happening, his birthday a week away, he was terrified. “But we still feel some occupational therapy would be beneficial. You’re still pretty shaky on the stairs, you mentioned there was no elevator in your building.” The doctor chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “We could transfer you to SHIELD medical from here, if you’d be okay with that. You’d be back in New York at least. You might be more comf—“

“No.” Steve shook his head. “If I can’t be actually at home then I’d rather stay here.”

“Steve, there’s no medical reason for us to keep you here. We’re at the point where this is all stuff that can be accomplished with outpatient or home therapy. It wouldn’t be reasonable or ethical for us to keep you.”

“I could stay here, I could stay in DC.” He didn’t want _home_ tainted with _broken_ anymore than it already was. His mind and his heart already did those things. He didn’t want the memory of his body failing him to haunt him there, too.

And he’d be absolutely damned if he allowed anyone associated with SHIELD see him that way.

***

Pepper had left several days prior. “As much as I’ve actually loved the time away, I really have to get back to New York.” They had spent what short hours they had free at the condo together. Loki had learned how truly cultured the woman was. The vast art collection she had curated on Stark’s behalf. The library. The wine collection. She was well traveled. Spoke a few languages—which of course she had taught Loki a few key phrases in. It was an immense amusement to listen to Pepper say “Fuck you, asshole” and “Will that be all?” in each of them. “I’ve run out of things to do at the office here.” She laughed softly to herself. “And believe it or not, I actually really miss Tony.”

“I will find a hotel room. You have been far too kind.”

“Absolutely not. You’ll stay here.” Pepper insisted that an Avenger’s loved one staying nearby to care for them was more than an appropriate use of the condo. “When you’re ready to leave, just give the keycard to the building manager. It’s absolutely no problem.”

And so, when Steve called and said that the hospital was getting ready to discharge him and that he had no desire to be transferred to SHIELD, she swallowed her pride and called Stark.

“Hey there, Miss Mischief. What’s shakin’?”

“Steve needs a place to stay.”

He made a concerned sound. There was the soft clatter of tools being placed down on the workbench. “What happened?”

Loki wasn’t entirely sure how much Steve wanted shared. He had not spoken to any of the other Avengers during his time at the hospital beyond text messages from Barton while Loki was visiting. “They are letting him go, but he is not ready to come home. May we stay here?”

There was a painfully long silence. “Of course. Whatever the big guy needs.” A pause. “Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yes.” She needed to change the subject. Stark was too good at prying. “Any progress on the body armor?”

“Yeah, actually. We’re almost ready to go into production.”

“How are you going to get it to the people who need it?”

“That’s where Rhodey is gonna have to get involved. Maybe Cap. They’re better at making people see their side than I am.” A pause. Some whirring. Some cursing directed at a robot. “You know, nicely.” Loki chuckled. Pepper had shown her the video of Stark’s Congressional hearing at some point over the course of their time together. “But yeah, when he gets home. Does he plan on coming home?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

***

Onheil came to visit the next day with a grin on her face and a bounce in her step.  The curtain between the beds was open. Bennett greeted her enthusiastically. She tossed a bag of chips in his direction. He caught it and removed an earbud. Twangy music floated across the room. “You’re a fucking saint.”

“Far from it, darling.”

Steve furrowed his brow, “I thought I was _darling_.”

“You are. You are my Captain darling.” She plunked down on the edge of his bed and kissed him, silly and sloppy. “My Steven.” He felt her expression soften, the kiss turned more serious. “Mine.”

“You two are disgusting.”

“Says the man reaping the benefits of having me as a visitor.”

“You’ve got a point.” He crunched loudly on a chip and stuck his earbud back in.

Steve pulled himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He slumped beside Onheil, shoulder pressed to hers. The chipper mood she was in was only making him feel more sour.

Agent Hill had been to see him early that morning. “So, we’ve heard the good news!” She was smiling and happy and Steve couldn’t bring himself to feel the same. “But I’ve also heard that you don’t want to go back to New York? What’s wrong?” She glanced toward Bennett’s side of the room.

Steve shook his head. “Sleeping.” Bennett snored loudly as if on cue. “I’ve just…I’ve got a lot on my mind. A lot of things to consider.” He’d spoken about it at length with the shrink. “I don’t know that I want to continue to work for SHIELD.” Maria frowned. “I don’t know that I want…I don’t know that I _can_ be Captain America anymore. Not the way I was, at least.” She put her hand over his; thumb rubbing small circles over his wrist. “I’m tired, Maria. I’m tired of trying to be a hero.”

Maria left an hour later. She had tried and failed to convince him to let SHIELD take care of finding him someplace in DC to stay while he finished his therapy and recuperated and thought things over. “No, thank you, really. I just…I want to do things for myself. I’ll find a hotel or rent an apartment or something.” She clucked her tongue, saying it was a foolish expense he shouldn’t have to incur, especially at short notice. He was hurt doing his job, his employer should provide for him. Simple economics. “It’s not a big deal, Maria.” He laughed dryly. “Back-pay is a wonderful thing. I don’t need to be frugal. I don’t need…I don’t need SHIELD handouts. I don’t need to be…reliant on them.” She raised a brow but didn’t prod further.

After she left he pulled his sketchbook toward himself, sketching out thumbnails for the comic he’d started— _Christ_ , it felt like a lifetime ago—and the room filled with the oddly soothing silence of just pencil on paper.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Yeah?”

Bennett shifted in bed, groaning as he moved. “I sort of…heard all of that.”

“I’m sorry we woke you. I’ll leave the room next time.”

“Nah, no problem.” There was a pregnant pause. Steve stopped scratching at the paper. “Can I say something?”

“Shoot.”

“I don’t think you’re a hero. Not because you’re Captain America. I mean, you shouldn’t try to be a hero.”

“Good to know.” Steve cringed at how annoyed his tone was. But he was done. He was sick of discussing it.

“No, I mean.” Bennett made a frustrated sound. “I mean, I think Captain America is a hero because he’s you. Not the other way around. If that helps.” Steve sighed heavily. “I’m just gonna shut up.”

“It helps.”

And here was Onheil, grinning like a lunatic and drumming her fingers against his thigh. “You’re…ridiculously happy. What happened?”

“I spoke with Stark.”

He grabbed her chin, drawing her in and looking directly into her eyes. “Who are you and what have you done with Onheil?” She snapped her teeth at his nose. He released her chin. She was overly silly. His eyes flicked down to where her knee was bouncing with nervous energy.

“I spoke to him about your coming to stay at his condo.”

“Onheil, I don’t—“

“Shut up.” She laid a finger against his lips. “Let someone else take care of you. Reap the benefits. Take the assistance. Relax. For once.” He closed his eyes, leaned into her touch when her fingers caressed his cheek and cupped his jaw. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you. Even if that means asking Tony for a favor.”

“Does this mean you two are friends now?”

She snorted in amusement. “It only means that we have come to a mutual understanding.” She shrugged, laced her fingers together on her lap. “He was kind. Accommodating. As was Pepper. And Rhodes. Exceedingly so. I cannot hold much of a grudge after that.”

Rapid banjo music floated toward them again. “Hey, Cap.”

Steve and Onheil turned to face Bennett. He had one eye closed, the other squinted to focus, a chip between his fingers. “Yeah?”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re shaped like a Dorito?”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re an idiot?” He couldn’t help but laugh.

“My wife. Every day. Don’t go tryin’a steal her job.”

Steve was slightly mortified when he stepped out of the front doors of the hospital to see Coulson waiting behind the wheel of Lola. “Onheil—“

“Hush. I didn’t think a bus or a train or a cab would have been a pleasant experience for you at the moment. He offered and I couldn’t resist.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably, clutching the shafts of the crutches in his hand tightly, resolving not to use them unless his legs felt like they were going to collapse under his own weight—which hadn’t happened in a good while, thank God. He was still moving much more carefully than he would have before, still hyperaware of putting one foot in front of the other and feeling the contact of the ground against his heels and toes.

He shook himself off, set his shoulders, and strode toward the car. “Thanks for the ride, Phil.”

“Any time, Cap. Thought you might like to feel the wind in your hair a little. Especially since it’s grown out again, you hippie.” Coulson grinned as Steve settled himself in the passenger’s seat. Onheil earned a disapproving scowl when she dropped Steve’s duffle bag of laundry and belongings into the back seat and vaulted in beside it. “Don’t scuff anything.”

She spread her arms across the back of the seat and shook out her hair. “I believe you were saying something about wind in hair?” Coulson rolled his eyes as Lola purred to life.

Steve enjoyed the ride in spite of himself.

After thanking Phil profusely and bidding him good day, Steve allowed himself to be led up to Stark’s condo. “Would you like the grand tour?”

“Maybe later. Right now I could eat your hand.” Onheil laughed and led him toward the kitchen.

A grand tour it was. Steve felt like he would get lost in the bathroom alone. Who needed a shower that was practically a small room in itself? And a soaker tub—with jets? And two sinks? And a vanity? He didn’t understand it. But that was Tony. Over the top. Filling every need, even the ones that don’t exist.

Evidently, Onheil appreciated the tub.

Eventually, they settled down on the couch in the living room, cozy in pajamas. Onheil laughed when Steve laid his head in her lap. He tuned out the world. Focused on the warmth of her thighs. The motion of her fingers stroking through his hair, nails catching gently against his scalp. The white noise of the evening news.

***

“Mo leanbh,” Steve sniffed loudly and drew the thick quilt more tightly around his body. His mother’s fingers were in his hair, combing out the tangles rubbing gently to ward off his building headache. Her lap made a pillow for his head.

“I’m tired’a this, Ma.” He looked up at her, her smile soft and sad. “’m tired’a bein’ sick.” Cold weather was never kind to him. It made his lungs burn and his joints ache. Having a cold made his chest rattle painfully and his head throb. He could hear the other kids from the neighborhood screeching as they packed tight snowballs and hurled them at each other. Bucky had come running in practically as soon as the first flake had hit the pavement, cheeks flushed with color from the bite of the air and his own exertion.

“C’mon, _Stevie_! C’mon, c’mon!”

“I’m sick. I can’t.” After Bucky’s departure, Steve retreated to the dim light of the bedroom with the blanket tacked up over the window to ward off the draft.

She clucked her tongue at him. “Mo leanbh, it’s just a cold. You’ll be fine in a few days.” He knew it was a lie. A kind one, but a lie nonetheless. He was thirteen. He was old enough to understand exactly how this whole chronic illness thing worked. “You can go sledding with James then.” A loosely packed snowball hit the window with a thud.

He swatted her hand away from his cheek. “’m not a baby, Ma.” He drew the quilt up over his head and turned his back on her.

***

Steve turned his body over. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close, nose pressed into the curve of her side and stomach.

***

He was snoring softly against her stomach, holding onto her like he was afraid she was going to run away. She let him, her fingers dancing over his shoulder and bicep in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. She could feel the tension in his body, still there even in sleep, as light as it was.

She let him be until she could no longer ignore the tingling in her legs from the weight of him pressing on them. “Steve, wake up.” She thumped her palm against his side gently but firmly. He made a displeased sound, muffled against her body. His arms circled tighter around her torso. “Steven, my legs are going numb.” After a beat, his arms slowly released her. He shifted and squirmed so that she was still trapped on the couch, but the padded arm supported his weight. He very purposefully rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Someone’s tired. We didn’t do anything today, you lazy old man.”

He huffed out a laugh, “Not tired, just… I feel safe. Relaxed.”

“You didn’t feel safe?”

He shrugged by way of explanation. His fingers swept up her bare arm, traced and outline around the thin strap of her top. Loki closed her eyes and sighed, content to just feel his fingers on her skin. She drew in an abrupt breath when he found that particular spot on the side of her neck. “I missed you.”

Her lips curled into a smile at the corners. “I missed you, too.”

“Is JARVIS here?”

“Just for perimeter security.” Pepper had assured her the disembodied servant would only function to alert them to a breach. There wouldn’t be any video or audio aside from that. She understood how much Steve valued his privacy and how much he wouldn’t want Tony to be able to look in on them while they were staying at the condo.

Loki wondered if Steve could hear her heartbeat as loudly as she could as his fingers wandered down over her collarbone and danced over the modest swell of her bosom. “Onheil.” She opened her eyes lazily. His index finger hooked over the edge of her top. He raised his eyebrows in question. She nodded. He licked his lips and looked up at her through a curtain of eyelashes.

 _Norns,_ those eyelashes were obscene.

She let her head fall back against the couch, his warm breath against her skin. She groaned openly when his lips touched her. Wetting her skin. Teasing with his teeth. His mouth closing over her nipple and sucking, making the flesh harden and tingle. She threaded her fingers into his hair, gripping close to his scalp, drawing a whine out of him. He was breathing hard when he pulled his head back. He crushed his mouth against hers; kissing her like he was trying to swallow her whole.

Steve shifted and twisted; moving over and catching her knees in the crook of his arm, making her swing them up onto the couch, covering her body with his. His lips moved over her jaw. He sucked marks across her collarbone, soft and red and unlasting. He worried at her unattended breast, hands kneading her sides and drawing her thighs up. She rolled her body up against him. He chuckled against her skin, stilled her hips with his hands, pressing her down into the cushion. “Mean—“ Any other thought vanished when he stroked her over the fabric of her shorts. “ _Steve_.” His shoulders hunched. The cushions dipped and shifted as he moved down on his knees. His tongue marked a wet trail over her stomach when he’d pushed the hem of her top up, leaving it bunched around her ribcage. He gripped the waist of her shorts and slid them down over her hips.

“Up.”

Her body followed command. He knelt up on the couch, pulling the shorts off her legs before settling himself between them.

His teeth followed the path his tongue had created. Loki found herself breathing hard and pushing against his shoulders. He laughed, scooted down farther.

“Yes?”

His breath was warm against her. He brushed his lips against her thigh, trailing kisses downward.

“ _Yes.”_

He started gently. Long, languid strokes across the outside of her folds. Snuffling discreetly as she presumed her hair tickled his face. He pushed softly deeper, nose and tongue parting her. Shoulders shifted. Hands gripped backs of thighs. Shoulders catching knees and hands gripping her backside with lovely force. She groaned as his tongue slipped inside, wet and warm. She keened when his lips closed over her clitoris and sucked.

She gasped in distress when his mouth left her. His large hand pressed gently to her stomach was soothing as he marked her other thigh with tiny bites.

“Steve.”

He looked up at her, lopsided smile on his face, fingers slipping down. Slipping in. Working in and out. Curving up. He didn’t look away as he lowered his lips back down. Tip of his tongue. Flat of it. Swiping with care. Responding to each hitch in her breath. Drawing her inner folds between his lips and pulling gently.

It was almost unsettling to be watched so intently as her muscles began to pulse and her body grew hot and she bit off the full-bodied moan that tried to rip its way from her mouth.

***

She held him there. Thighs trapping his head, a hand gripping his hair, an arm cradling her own chest, hugging herself.

She shuddered and trembled. Her heels pressed into his back.

She gulped in a great, heaving breath before her legs relaxed. He arranged her legs back down gently and moved to cradle her body against him.

He needed her. He needed contact. He needed more than trained professionals poking and prodding at his mind and body. He needed more than a well-meaning roommate with a heart too large for his own good.

He just wanted everyone to shut the hell up so he could feel something.

To shut himself the hell up before something came out that he couldn’t take back. Couldn’t spin differently. Couldn’t deny. Couldn’t laugh off.

She made herself small, face and arms tucked against his chest. Her breathing was steady but her body was shivering. “You okay?” She snorted out a laugh, drew her knees up; he sandwiched them between his.

“Yes, very okay. It’s just been a very long while since someone has done that.”

“Should’a said somethin’. Would’a done it sooner.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

He laughed, the sound dry in his throat. She shifted, drew his face down. She kissed him open-mouthed, sucking on his bottom lip, hers dragging over his chin—tasting herself. “You didn’t think I’d know what I was doing.”

“Perhaps.”

“I’m going to have to remind you that I wasn’t a blushing virgin when we met every time we do something intimate, aren’t I?” She pushed his hair back, smoothing it down. She admitted that anything slightly more adventurous than average sex might surprise her. “Because fingering you on your kitchen counter was pretty average.” She’d been working her way steadily toward his ear. She bit down in response to his teasing. “It’s not like I’ve never gone down on a dame.”

“Another heated wartime experience with your Agent Carter?” He drew away from the sensation of her tongue on his ear.

“Once, yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about Peggy. Not with Onheil mostly nude in his arms. It felt like a betrayal to both of them. “There was this girl, Kate. Her brother was in a couple classes with me at college—art school. Nothin’ serious. Her parents were strict. And Protestant. I was poor and Irish and Catholic. They would have never let us go out. But we fooled around some. Lost touch. Got together again a few times while Bucky was away for basic training. Couldn’t really afford to spend the extra money on rubbers. We got creative.”

“I thought you didn’t have a lot of girlfriends?”

He shrugged. “She was lonely, so was I. Her bother helped her get out of the house.”

“So that you could fuck her.” He made a disapproving face.

“So that she could have a good time. He didn’t know. At least I think he didn’t.”

“Captain darling?”

“Yes, Lovebug.”

“Why didn’t you feel safe?” He bowed his head against the crook of her neck, mouthing lazily at the skin there, trying to formulate an answer.

“Go put clothes on. Let’s go to a movie.”

“Steve—“

“Please, Onheil, I…I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Later, then.”

Onheil slipped her shorts back on and fetched her phone to locate the closest theater. Steve couldn’t bring himself to find anything that was playing interesting. They stayed in. He flipped through the hundreds of channels on Stark’s television. The news was depressing. Comedy was too forced. Movies and dramas were too hard to focus on.

“Animal Planet?”

“Sure.”

These wolves are part of the Druid Peak pack, named for the summit that towers over their territory in the Lamar Valley. While nearly full grown, they are only nine months old and still considered pups. Seeing them away from the rest of the pack is surprising. Suddenly, the innocent excursion takes a serious twist when the pups stumble upon three elk…

Onheil was curled beside him. Her body stiffened as the program progressed. The pack ripped into a kill, teeth gnashing, hackles raised, streamlined bodies hurtling through the air. She made a choked sound as the snow was stained red and sat up abruptly. “Are you okay?” He flicked to the next channel on the remote. “Was that bothering you? Onheil, I’m sorry—you should have said something, I—”

“No.” She practically jumped off the couch. “No, it wasn’t bothering me. I’m fine.” She wandered toward the kitchen. “I’m fine.”

***

Loki dropped his robe on the floor and slipped into the steaming bath. The ridiculously over-sized copper tub had been a joke when Sigyn said she would miss the natural springs that were hidden beneath one section of the palace. The water rippled around his body. Fragrant oil and petals stuck to his skin. He could feel the tension running out of his limbs as he drank in the scent and the warmth. Sigyn was seated near the roaring fire, a large kettle close at hand to freshen the temperature of the water if need be, her attention focused on the fine gold thread she was working through the collar of the smoothly woven wool tunic in her hands.

“I take it the Small Council meeting did not go as planned.”

Loki closed his eyes and settled back against the high curve of the tub. “Not in the least.”

He had left early the day prior. Upon his arrival at the Allfather’s palace, he was whisked toward the private rooms that served the inner most Council. Representatives of Asgard’s closest allies were present, aside from the royal family, all considered important diplomats in their own rights.

There were rumors of rebellion along Yggdrasil’s branches. The Jotnar of Muspelheim were restless.

“I must go to Alfheim, see if my friends there will help us.”

Sigyn placed her embroidery down. “Your friends the Elves. Shall I ever meet them?”

“Perhaps, when this is all quieted down.”

The doors flung open. “ _Ada._ ” Vali dragged out the word as he and Narfi tumbled over each other into the room. “ _Nana.”_

“Naneth, tell him he cannot go!”

“Tell him!”

They peeked up over the edge of the tub, just tall enough to see over it if they stretched. Loki sank down further into the water, covered to the slope of his nose. Sigyn covered her mouth prettily as she stifled a laugh. She tugged her robe more securely closed and crossed the room to lean against the edge of the tub beside the boys. She ruffled Narfi’s hair, “He must go, it is very important. The Allfather needs his help. Yggdrasil requires it, my loves.” Loki flicked at the surface of the water, making Narfi flinch to avoid being splashed as droplets hit the side of the tub.

Vali’s brow furrowed with his discontent. “How many?”

Loki rose out of the water to his shoulders. “How many what?” Narfi strained and reached across, grunting as he stretched to pluck the petal that clung to Loki’s nose.

“How many you’re gone? How many bedtimes?”

“You must go to sleep five times before I can come home.”

The two children turned to each other as if in serious conference. “Five sleeps.”

“Including tonight?”

“No.”

“Will you come tell us a story tonight?”

“Of course.” They consulted silently again and then nodded as if that gave him permission to leave. “Now go. Eir will be looking for you, you troublemakers.” They grinned and allowed themselves to be herded out the door to find their nurse.

Sigyn leaned back against the closed door and laughed. “Who would have thought we would be so lucky.” The heavy lock clicked into place.

“To have two sons who do not understand the concept of a closed door?” Loki laughed, his eyes tracking Sigyn as she crossed the room to him once more.

“Well, there is that. They do certainly take after you in most ways.” He made an offended face and broke back into a smile. Nothing that was said or done over the course of a grueling two days locked away with Council could bother him here. Not in the sanctuary he had built with his family. Behind the walls he had thrown up around his heart. “They are troublesome and boisterous but they are healthy. I wouldn’t trade it.”

“In truth, I did not think you would want another. Not after…” He looked away, toward the fire. He could never bring himself to talk about their lost child, about Egil. Sigyn grasped his chin in her hand and made him look at her. She studied him with a serious expression before she leaned down to kiss him.

“Of course I wanted another.” She kissed him again. He pulled her further down, his long fingers cradling her skull. “I would have them all.” Her voice was dark and low. It made him shiver even in the warmth of the bath.

“Min elskede.”

His fingers slipped under the collar of her robe. He traced the heavy gold crescent around her throat made warm by her flesh, a twin to the inset of Loki’s own leathers and armor. He followed the line of her neck down, fingertips slipping down her sternum and parting the fur edging of the silk and wool garment. “My Lopt. My air.”

“Say it again.”

Her lips curled into a wicked smile. She took a step back. Her hair tumbled free of its knot. She untied the sash at her waist and let the fabric fall in a heap to the floor.

“I said: say it again.”

He held a hand out to her, his expression dark and she stepped up and into the tub. “ _Say it_.” He groaned when she settled herself into his lap, rolling her hips back and forth, stroking him to arousal against the heat of her sex while she gripped the lip of the tub. His head bumped against the high wall when it dropped back, his breathing heavy, his world spinning slightly from the heat of the water and the fire and the contact.

Sigyn made him look at her, her hand at the back of his neck. The other moved from griping the edge and slipped beneath the surface of the water, gliding down over her skin. She wrapped her fingers around him and let her body sink down. Her gaze was unsettling and unbroken. “ _I would have them all_.”

They sat unmoving, breathing each other’s breath, mouths opening and closing in unspoken words and incomplete kisses. The surface of the water shivered, greed-gold sparks dancing over it and kissing their skin. Loki gripped Sigyn’s hips hard, fingertips pressing into her flesh purposefully and possessively. She gasped and sucked in air, nostrils flaring and gritting her teeth. His snapped sharply, pistoning up and down, while she rolled her hips and ground against him.

The room filled with the sounds of snapping teeth. Sharp breaths. Low growls. Gentle murmurs. Crackling fire. Crackling magic. Water sloshing over the sides of the tub and hitting the smooth stone floor.

***

Loki stood at the foot of the stairs.

Always Germany.

The Captain smiled and traced the curve at the bottom edge of Loki’s gorget. “So beautiful.” Loki rolled his eyes and reached out to pull the helmet off of the Captain’s head. He pushed the cowl away, running his fingers through messed hair.

“You should be unkempt at all times, Captain darling.”

Steve chuckled and drew Loki close with an arm around his waist and stretched up to kiss him. “Whatever you say, Lovebug.”

“Ada!” Loki pulled his lips away from the Captain’s, eyes wide and wild as he looked around.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Ada!”

“That—“ Loki squirmed against the Captain’s firm embrace, struggling to free himself.

“Ada, what is happening?” The voice was small and frightened. Loki wrenched his body away, catching himself on his hands as he tripped and fell, narrowly avoiding smacking his face against the pavement. He regained himself and raced back inside the building where Barton demanded an eyeball and he had delivered. “Ada!” Small sobs, choked and hiccupping echoed in the now empty marble gallery.

“Where are you going?” The Captain’s voice floated toward him from the doors and crackled in the communication device in his ear.

“I have to find them.” Loki raced toward the stairs.

“Find who?”

The cries gave way to snarling and snapping that bounced against the stairs and rattled Loki’s brain. “No. No. _Nononono._ Not again. You cannot do this again.”

“Barton, eyes on the target?”

“Don’t!”

“Target locked.”

“You are under _my_ command!”

“Fire when ready.”

“Stop!”

The sound of an arrow cutting through the air met Loki’s ears. The snarl cut off in a frightened yelp. Silence fell in a heavy curtain. Pain cut through Loki’s gut. He opened his mouth to scream as he gripped the shaft of the arrow and found no sound.

The _thud_ of boots hitting the marble floor came up behind him. “Target eliminated. Good work, Hawkeye.”

“My pleasure, Cap.”

***

Onheil thrashed and cried out in her sleep beside him. Steve reached toward her, a tentative hand on her hip. “Onheil?” He rocked her once gently, “Onheil, wake up.” She gasped and woke up with a sob. Steve sat up as she did, trying to pull her into his arms.

She slapped him away and fled from the room, “Don’t touch me!”

He swung his legs out over the side of the bed; they trembled when he tried to rise. He made a frustrated sound and grabbed the crutches from the bedside and slipped his forearms into the cuffs, fingers gripping the pegs tightly.

Steve found her in the kitchen. She was sitting on the floor against the fridge with her knees drawn up to her chest. She was breathing hard, nearly panting. He leaned the crutches against the counter and sank down beside her. “Onheil, talk to me. Please.”

She lifted her head slowly, fighting to keep her breathing steady. Her face was blotchy and wet. Her voice shook, “Don’t ever betray me.” Her gaze was cold, pinned to the tiles in front of her.

“Why would I ever betray you?” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I love you, Onheil. Please talk to me.”

“Do not try to distract me when _you_ should be talking. It helps no one.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“It was a nightmare. It was nothing. I am fine.”

He knew she wasn’t, but clearly now was not the time to prod. “Come back to bed.”

“I would rather stay here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to _Irish Central_ "A leanbh" is a term of endearment meaning "my child." I have Sarah calling Steve this in basically every fic that I feature her in. As always, if you speak the language and I've gotten it wrong, or you know something better/more appropriate please let me know!  
>  EDIT: Thanks to an Irish reader, I've had a correction and I'm fixing up my pronouns across my work! The term should be "mo leanbh." Thanks, ForeverEffervescent!
> 
> The bit of narration from Loki and Steve watching TV is from _Animal Planet Presents: Yellowstone Wolves_. There's no actual kill in the clip. The wolves go after some bull elk, realize that they have no chance at taking them down, and slink away. I just needed something to segue with.
> 
> Just like Vali calls Loki "ada/adar" both previously and in this chapter, the boys call Sigyn "nana/naneth," Tolkein's elvish for mother.
> 
> Lots of filler because I completely don't know how to get everybody to be where I want them! But hey, there was that Loki/Sigyn scene I promised you all forever ago!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and for the feedback.


	78. Yankee Doodle Dandy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to have a happy birthday. The universe has plans to the contrary.

Steve woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Personal cell. Not his SHIELD phone. He hit ignore and snuggled back down into the warmth of the comforter, pulling Onheil’s arm around his waist again. He was allowed to ignore a call at the crack of dawn on his personal cell on his birthday, dammit.

Onheil shifted, murmuring something not quite coherent and clinging to the edge of sleepiness. Her lips brushed the back of his neck and her hand stroked up the front of him, “G’mo’nin,” she mumbled.

“Did I wake you?”

“No…stupid phone.” He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his back.

“’m sorry. I’ll put it on silent.”

“Don’t, then you have to move again. I’m comfortable. Just ignore it.”

“I can’t imagine who would call this early. I don’t know anyone who would be awake.” He moved to fit their bodies flush together. “Or who would know that I’m not on a mission.”

“Perhaps it’s one of your Avengers. You run at this hour. Maybe they thought you’d be awake and available.”

“I kind of just want to sleep.”

“It’s your birthday, do what you want.”

“I want to go down to the National Mall for the fireworks. I Googled it. They open at ten.”

“Sounds lovely.” Her voice was raspy and soft, irritation just pushing in at the edges. “Can I go back to sleep then?”

Steve had it planned in his head. If he couldn’t be home to watch the Macy’s fireworks over the Brooklyn Bridge, then he was going to make the most of it. They’d make a bunch of sandwiches, maybe fill a thermos with coffee—he’d have to check what items were allowed beyond the security checkpoint again. They’d have to stand around all day. It was pretty hot out. They’d probably be fairly uncomfortable. But it would be an experience. One of those _you have to do this thing once before you die_ type events. It was the Fourth of July and they were in the nation’s capitol. The celebration would be huge. He’d hold off on shaving, maybe stop someplace to buy a ball cap, bring his sunglasses. Now that he thought about it, he’d probably have to get lighter clothing too. All he had were the dozen pairs of sweatpants and tee shirts that Onheil had brought for him at the hospital. He didn’t think it would be pleasant to stand for twelve hours in ninety-degree weather in sweats.

Maybe he should just rethink the whole thing entirely. Maybe it was whatever was out there in the universe telling him he should just stay inside.

“There’s going to be a singing frog, you know.”

“Wonderful.”

“And Frankie Valli.”

“Not the Four Seasons?”

“Just Valli, I think. Oh, and that kid with the two first names.” Onheil made a confused sound. “Hold oooon ta me as we goooo…” She moved a hand over his lips and pinched them shut. He spoke around her fingers. “There’s a parade too. It starts around noon.”

“Captain darling?”

“Yeah?”

“Please just let me sleep for one more hour.”

“Okay.”

Onheil was flipping pancakes onto a plate when Steve’s SHIELD phone started ringing. Another few minutes put Coulson at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee while Steve cleaned dishes. He laughed when Coulson finally opened the top of the bakery box he’d brought with him. There was a cheesecake inside, decorated with blueberries and raspberries to look like his shield. “That’s from Maria and I. Romanov said I should stick a thousand candles in it when she called to make sure everything was okay down here. You should check your cell, Cap.”

Steve ran his hands through his hair and sat back down across the table from Phil. He had been right, Steve was looking shaggy. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to get it cut or not. After the stress of the Istanbul operation, he’d actually kind of liked the change. “Yeah, I was sort of asleep.” Coulson raised a brow, clearly seeing through the lie. “I’ll call everyone back later.” Onheil got up to turn off the heat on the screaming kettle and fix herself a fresh cup of tea. “I feel like you’re not just here to share birthday pancakes, though.”

Coulson sighed, “Unfortunately, not. I’m here on a public relations mission.” Steve frowned. “It got out that you were in the city. We intercepted photos of you leaving the hospital and in the lobby here before they hit the press or the Internet. But the media isn’t backing down. Someone started a rumor that you’d be guarding the Unknowns today. There’s been a crowd at every changing of the guard since seven this morning.” Steve pointed out that he couldn’t guard the Unknowns. He wasn’t a part of The Old Guard and it wasn’t an honor to be taken lightly. “We know that, but the general public isn’t really familiar with that kind of thing. They just know that there’s always someone there and that you’re in town. We tracked down the source to some blogger who claimed to have seen you. They wrote this long-winded post about wondering if Sergeant Barnes could be one of the soldiers in the Tomb and if you’d go to pay respects.” Steve’s face twisted with grief. It was insulting and cruel. “I don’t think they meant for it to be. I have a print out of the post, if you want.” He moved to take a few folded sheets of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. Steve put a hand up, not wanting to see it. “It’s some sixteen year old from Pennsylvania. She clearly doesn’t know how to fact check. I think it was more wishful thinking, if anything. At the beginning of the post she describes her trip to the Smithsonian in excruciating detail. Just a fan with a romantic imagination.” Coulson crossed his legs and leaned back, eyes drifting toward the noisily brewing coffee pot. “Her blog followers sort of latched onto the idea. The post had well over a million hits the last time we checked it. We’re in the process of getting it taken down. Hard to do it quietly when it’s gotten as much attention as it has.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Steve, I think—“

“Don’t. Just leave it alone.”

Phil rose from his seat when the coffee pot beeped. He refilled Steve’s mug and his own. “There’s something else, too, though.”

“Am I having lunch with the President on the White House lawn?”

Onheil stifled a laugh into her teacup. Phil cracked a smile. “No, although, I think we might be able to arrange a more private affair, if you’d like.” Steve chuckled and shook his head. “There’s another rumor about the celebration on the Mall, that you’ll be part of the concert. I believe there’s a photoshopped gif of you from one of the old USO films. You’re lifting a motorcycle and the First Lady is sitting on it. It’s captioned _‘Can you imagine?’_. That one has quite a few hits too.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I guess that means I can’t actually go to the fireworks, then.”

“It would probably be better if you stayed in, yeah. People will be on the lookout.” He shrugged, “To be honest? You don’t look like yourself, like the general public knows you. As long as you’re not going around shouting from the rooftops that you’re Captain America, I don’t think it’ll really be a problem. People are out looking for him. They’re looking for a baby-faced blondie with an aw-shucks attitude. Here you are lookin’ like you just got finished chopping wood behind your cabin in Wisconsin.” Onheil laughed and carded her fingers though Steve’s hair, pushing it back behind his ear. She brushed the back of her hand over his cheek, rubbing the beginnings of his beard good-naturedly. She’d hated it before. When she suggested he simply not shave when he complained about his lack of a razor he’d been surprised and pleased.

“It’s up to you, my love. Whatever you want. It is your birthday. Don’t let them spoil it. We can find a way to remain anonymous.” Her mouth turned down into an exaggerated frown. “You were so excited this morning when you started chattering at the crack of dawn.”

Phil put a hand up and drained his mug, “And on that note, I’m going to get the heck out of here before you two get any more domestic and lovey-dovey.” He took his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “One more thing, though.” Steve groaned and thumped his forehead down on the table. “World News wouldn’t back down. They’re sending a reporter.”

“Today?”

“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning. They want to air the segment on the evening news. That Andrew Bernard is too smart for his own good sometimes. With all the stuff going around the Internet about you being in town, he did some digging. Someone from the unit you guys were with or a family member talked. There were some vague references to an emergency airlift thrown around. We think it will be better to appease them and spin the story the way we want it spun than to let the rumor mill keep turning.”

“So Fury decided I was going to be the performing monkey again. Just like the last time. When _I_ didn’t want the whole world to know about _my_ problems.” Steve didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping his mug until it shattered in his hand. Piping hot coffee splashed over his hand and the table. “Shit!”

Onheil jumped out of her seat and dove for the roll of paper towel. Coulson kept his distance for a moment until she gave him a pointed look. He found the trashcan under the sink and held it against the edge of the table while Onheil swept coffee and the broken pieces of mug into it. Steve dumped soaked paper towels into the trash and went to the sink. He gritted his teeth while he watched cold water hit his hands and swirl around in the stainless steel basin. “I’m sorry.” It was a miracle the sharp ceramic hadn’t sliced his palm open. His skin was bright pink, a superficial burn that would heal up quickly. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s fine, Steve. You don’t need to apologize.” Phil chuckled, the sound tense. “If I had super soldier strength I’d probably do stupid shit like that too. You’ve got every right to be upset. But just… remember that we’re not the enemy? Fury isn’t either. He’s really trying to act in your best interest. It’s better if you do the interview.” He shrugged and opened the cabinet door for Onheil to replace the trashcan. “And Bernard isn’t a bad guy. He’s not going to drag you through the mud. Maria or I will be here early tomorrow to brief you. We’ll be here the whole time the crew is. We’ll shut it down if things get out of hand or too far off script.”

Steve walked Coulson to the door. “Thank you, for watching out for me.” Phil started to deny it. “No, Really. I know…I know I’m a handful.” The side of Steve’s mouth turned up. “More than a handful. But you…you and Maria…the team…you guys are always there for me. I don’t think I say thank you enough.” He pulled Coulson into a one-armed hug.

Phil pulled away after a moment and smiled. “Happy birthday, Steve.” He clapped Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t eat that whole cake yourself.”

Steve chuckled and held the door for him, “I think Onheil was eyeing up the raspberries. Tell Maria I appreciate it, too.” He watched the elevator doors slide closed at the end of the short hall. Onheil slid up behind him, her lips pressed into the crook of his neck and her arms around his waist. “I want to go out.”

“Then we shall.” She pulled away and Steve closed the door, leaning up against it. “But shouldn’t we take care of that hand first?”

“I’ll be fine.” Onheil narrowed her eyes at him and green sparks danced over his skin.

She released his hand, unblemished and with only the lingering ghost of irritation. “I’m going to shower. Decide what you would like to do today.”

Steve listened to the bedroom door open and close and then the bathroom door, the sound of the water running. He was forever finding himself at least slightly baffled by her small displays of power, the way it seemed to constantly be simmering beneath her skin like thousands of bugs trying to escape at any moment. Steve hadn’t been able to place the feeling before he knew, before she’d sent him flying into the elevator doors at Stark Tower. Now it seemed it should have been obvious the entire time.

He moved into the bedroom to find something suitable for leaving the house. He wasn’t sure how she did it, or when. She had disappeared the day before while his therapist was putting him through his paces. Maybe then.

There were pairs of cargo shorts in khaki and army green. There were cool linen pants in white and black and tan. There were tees and Henleys and polos. There were ball caps. Everything laid out on the bed in neatly folded squares.

Maybe it was old guilt from days of scrimping and saving and trying to waste as little as possible. He was mortified that she’d gone out and spent money on him. She was so frugal. It was too extravagant. He knew full well none of the clothing she had brought him in the hospital, right down to the sneakers, were from his closet in Brooklyn either. “Don’t be silly,” she’d said as she yanked tags off of things and put them into the drawers at his bedside. “I just popped back home and raided your laundry basket.” He played her game and let her pretend to not be generous with her time and resources and care.

He was still sitting on the edge of the bed trying to figure out how to insist he pay her back or that they take all of the still-tagged items back to whatever store they’d come from. “I know what you’re thinking and the answer is _no_. Consider it a birthday gift, if you must.”

“Onheil, this is too much.”

“I think you should put these on.” She picked up the lighter-colored shorts and an impossibly soft white tee shirt. “It’s going to be rather hot.” He took them from her and she stepped across the room, dropping her towel on the floor as she went. Steve peeled his eyes away from the beads of water dropping from the ends of her hair and rolling down the curve of her bare back. She opened the closet and thrust her hand inside, seemingly picking something at random. He slipped out of his pajamas and into the clothes she had given him while he watched the mint-colored sun dress slither down over her body.

“Is it _No Underwear Day_? Should I join you?” He grinned when she snorted out a laugh and raked a brush through wet hair.

“If you’d like.” She wiggled her brow at him in when she turned around, hair tied up in a ponytail that stuck to her neck and shoulders. He sat down on the bed to slip his shoes on. Onheil dropped down beside him, nearly bouncing him off the edge of the mattress.

He plucked the brush from her hand and ran it through his hair before settling a Dodgers cap onto his head. “I know…I know you’re powerful or have power or something. And you still don’t have to explain it if you don’t want to, I’m not asking you to. But, why do you keep it bottled up? Why don’t you just use it?”

“Because it will get me caught.”

“But you use it on missions. You used it to help Clint. You shielded the others.”

“It had strategic value. And I needed Barton. And I didn’t quite fancy being shot at. Personal gain, my love, that’s the name of the game.” He frowned and watched her adjust her boots against her calves. They looked ridiculous with her choice of dress. Like wearing a wedding gown with a pair of used cowboy boots. He blamed crippling boredom and _TLC_ and their endless array of wedding shows and _Bride-Day_ marathons for that particular reference point. She flicked her wrist and his cap flopped off his head like a ghost had come by and snatched it. “See? Not bottled up.”

Steve put the cap back on and grabbed the swipe key off of the dresser. “C’mon. Parade’s going to start soon.”

***

He seemed to revel in the anonymity that his simple disguise afforded him. He beamed at the parade walkers as they passed by from their seats on the ground at the curb—musicians, flag twirlers, drum lines, men in colorful kilts playing ear-splitting tunes on bagpipes, extravagant floats, gigantic balloons, impossibly tall Uncle Sam’s, performers in historical costumes, horses and riders—his grin spread from ear to ear, the sparkle in his eye undiminished by the shadow of the ball cap over his face.

Even the absolute impossibility of getting into the standing area at the Mall didn’t make his smile falter. He shrugged and took the cap off, fanning himself with it and sliding his arm around Loki’s waist. “It’s okay. We can watch the concert on television.” He stopped at a street vendor’s cart to buy them sodas. “Five dollars. For a Coke. You have to be kidding me. It’s not even that bad in Times Square.” The vendor shrugged and Steve relented. “I feel like I just got robbed.”

Loki snickered into the mouth of her bottle, “You did.”

He affected an old man’s voice, and hunched his back. “Back in my day, a Coke cost a nickel!” Loki laughed and felt the carbonation of the drink eek its way up the back of her throat and tickle her nose. “We can watch the fireworks from the terrace. I think the building is tall enough.”

“You know,” Loki said later as she picked a plump raspberry off of the last mouthful of cheesecake. “I think I might be a little disappointed you didn’t really perform tonight.” Steve’s upturned face was drenched in color as fireworks exploded overhead. His arm was heavy across her shoulders, pinning her against the lounger and against his side. He looked down at her out of the corner of his eye and opened his mouth when she speared the last creamy bite on her fork.

“Every bond that you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun.” He leaned down and brushed a sweet-tasting kiss against her lips. “You ready to help me sock ol’ Adolph on the jaw?”

“You mentioned short-shorts and tights. I feel deprived. You must have looked wonderful in such scant clothing.”

“I was covered head-to-toe. You’ve seen me naked, what visual advantage would those give?”

Loki shrugged, “Entertainment value. Aesthetic pleasure.” The firework finale started booming overhead. The concussions rattled in her chest and stomach. The lights burned pinpricks of light into her field of vision and exploded in the darkness behind her eyelids when she closed them. “Maybe I want to see you gussied like a pin-up. Back arched. Legs tensed. Arms stretched. All encased in that lovely little costume.” He was gaping at her like a suffocating fish when she looked up at him. The sky went frighteningly dark and silent in contrast to the loud display. Vague cheering lifted on the warm breeze from the Mall and the streets below. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m allowed to fantasize.”

“I think they still have the costume somewhere.”

“Oh?”

“Last I heard it was in a climate controlled vault in an air-tight case somewhere in the Smithsonian archives. Every sweat stain and rip and powder burn preserved for the ages. Stark’s father kept it as a gag, I guess it made its way to the museum somewhere along the line.”

 _“Ya know, Rog’ahs, I think ya should wear it on ya weddin’ night. Carter’ll laugh s’damned hard ‘er dress’ll pop right off!”_ _A hunk of chalk hurled aross the room and plunked against the side of Howard’s head. Steve pressed his lips into a thin line to hold back his laugher. Peggy continued to write out coordinates on the blackboard as if nothing had happened._

He sat up and collected their plates and forks in one hand, his empty wine glass in the other. “Wore that thing into battle more than a few times before Howard got the suit put together. Had it on when I found Bucky. Felt a lot less like a performing monkey after that.” He leaned against the glass doors leading back into the main living space and waited for Loki to follow him. “Even with a stolen prop-helmet that stank out of hair product.” He grinned and walked through to the kitchen to put their things in the dishwasher.

“Did you enjoy your birthday after all, Captain darling?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I did.”

“I’m not finished with you yet, you know.”

“Oh?”

“I have more gifts.”

“Onheil, please don—“

“Shush. Let me be indulgent.” She pressed herself close to him and raked her fingers though his hair and clasped her hands behind his neck. “One that I can give you here. Which admittedly isn’t much of a present at all and not terribly thoughtful or creative.” He raised his brow and waited for her to finish. “The other will have to wait until we get home. Which I do hope is soon because I think I might explode if I have to wait to see how you like it very much longer.”

“That’s not fair. I don’t even have the benefit of having a box to shake. You’re such a tease.”

“But doesn’t anticipation make things more exciting?” He rolled his eyes and leaned down for a kiss. “Go get out of these sweaty clothes.” She could smell the salt of a day’s perspiration on him. It overwhelmed her senses pleasantly at such close quarters. “I’ll finish up in here.” He plucked a blueberry off of the half cake still sitting on the counter before strolling off toward the bedroom.

“Stop right there.” Steve froze in place, hunched over in the middle of the motion of pulling up his pajama pants.

“What did I do?” His face was pink from scrubbing, hairline damp.

“Hands off the pants.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He let go and the waistband snapped satisfyingly around the swell of his backside. He straightened up and pushed his chest out; clearly aware of the way it accentuated the curve of his back in light of her own confession. “Awaiting further orders.” He smirked at her as she came around in front of him, eyes taking in the planes of his chest and stomach, the soft trail of blond hairs that crept down from his navel, the almost-visible root of his shaft.

Loki put her hands on his chest and pushed him gently. “Down.” He let his body fall across the width of the bed, feet skidding against the soft carpet. She made a show of peeling the pants off his legs, enjoying the little shivers she drew out of him by ghosting her fingertips over his thighs. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched as she pulled the pants down off of his feet and pitched them over her shoulder.

“But I was ready for bed! I’m tired.” His grin said otherwise.

“I’m wide awake. And I thought I told you to let me be indulgent?” His grin turned into a shocked _O_ when she leaned down, picked his still-soft cock up and licked a stripe from root to tip with the flat of her tongue. “Still tired?” He answered with whispered blasphemies. His breath came in shaky shudders when she caught his eye, her lips closed around his tip as she sucked. He made a helpless sound when she pulled her lips off with a _pop_.

“Onheil, we can’t—“

“Oh, I know. I was terribly careless. I forgot to buy condoms while I was out.”  She crawled up onto the bed, knees on either side of his hips, the hem of her dress pooling over their bodies to hide his nakedness. He squeezed his eyes shut when her boots scraped against his thighs. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get you off, does it?” She lowered herself so that his cock was flat against his stomach, trapped under her, and pulled the dress up over her head. He huffed out a breath as she rolled her hips lazily back and forth, the slick heat of her sex sliding against him. “Open your eyes.” He did. “I asked you a question.”

His eyes widened and fluttered as he watched her motion. “It doesn’t.”

“Good. Relax then.”

Steve fell back against the mattress, moaning as the gentle bounce pushed their bodies closer together. His fingers found her thighs and squeezed. She wished he would be firmer with her, squeeze harder.

“On—Oh—El—“ His face and chest steadily turned pink and warm under her palms.

“Mm?” He swore out loud and her stomach fluttered when she moved _just so_ to make that delicious bundle of nerves glide against his frenulum to please them both. He hissed something unintelligible and gripped her flesh harder. Her groan stayed trapped behind her teeth.

“Sss—stop.”

“Why?”

“Just…just stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. Turn around.”

“Excuse me?”

He patted her backside to get her to sit up. His eyes rolled back, the pressure of her weight relieved. “My birthday, right?” She nodded. “You’re being indulgent, right?” She nodded. “Indulge me. Turn around.” The smile that spread over her face was nothing short of wicked.

Loki laughed, the sound tight in her chest. Why on Midgard was she nervous? It was Steve’s fault. He’d lulled her into thinking he was nothing short of unadventurous and had made it his mission to pull apart that image. Not that mutual oral stimulation was exactly adventurous, but she didn’t think the thought would have even crossed his mind. It made her wonder what exactly he’d gotten up to with his lonely friend and his Agent. “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Absolutely. Not very imaginative, admittedly.” Loki swung her leg carefully over his body and shifted on her knees. She straddled his chest and looked over her shoulder at him.

“Enjoying the close-up?”

“God, yes.”

She wrapped her fingers around his erection and stroked him lazily. “Do you ever think about my ass?”

“All the time. Alarmingly often.” He ran his hands up her thighs teasingly soft. “But I noticed your legs first. You’ve got the best stems this side of the century.” She hunched over to flick the tip of her tongue against the tip of his cock. “Holy moley.”

“I like it when you say that. It’s really rather random and adorable.” She flicked her tongue again, his legs tensed and his toes curled. Loki shivered as his fingers hooked over the tops of her boots, the nubby ends of his nails pressing into her flesh. She let out a short bark of laughter at the thought that she had not been carrying a blade.

Just another way he had changed her. The compulsion was gone. Mostly. Perhaps being more diligent about it would be to her benefit in light of the events of their last mission… His fingers squirming and tugging pulled her away from her thoughts and absent-minded stroking.

“C’mere.” His voice was thick with want and settled like warm oil at the base of her spine. She shifted and stretched on elbows and knees until she felt his humid breath against her skin. He gripped the leather of her boots as he ran nose and tongue against her folds, just barely parting them. She let her forehead fall against his pelvis and set her balance wider. He nipped gently at the skin where leg met groin. She took a moment to gather herself before setting to work with her own mouth, laving her tongue against his length, sucking and humming in response to the lovely things he did with tongue and teeth.

He probed with his tongue, slipping it inside.

She stroked his thighs. Scratched. Kneaded. Squeezed. He drew his legs up, nearly heel to ass, to tip himself upward in response to her ministrations. His hands roamed, groping blindly at whatever flesh he found. She slid her arms closer to him, cradling his hips and palming his behind, gripping and spreading him.

His hips jerked and his muscles tightened when she pressed her fingers gently into the space behind his sack, probing with intent to make him shake. He relaxed with a groan that vibrated through her. She lifted her mouth off of him to devote more avid attention to his testicles, reveling in the way his stomach clenched and unclenched and the way he seemed to know exactly what speed he should be twitching his thumb against her clit with.

She wondered for a moment if he had ever experienced someone taking his length entirely. He made a displeased sound and pressed his face more firmly against her sex when she stopped her play with her hands to shift her shoulders into a more comfortable position. She waited until he had distracted himself adequately to begin the slow task of swallowing him. She paused and sucked and hummed, blinked tears back when she pushed herself past urge to gag. His arms locked tightly around her hips. His slowly bobbing hips stilled completely; she supposed he had figured her game. She could feel him panting into her as she swallowed around him, her nose pressed down into his skin.

She backed off as slowly as she had gone down, humming in amusement when she heard him say, _holy moley_ again in quiet tones.

***

Steve concentrated on the slickness of her skin and the texture of her hair and the scent of her arousal. He concentrated on the tone of the sounds she made when his beard scrubbed against her skin, whether they were good sounds or displeased ones. He concentrated on everything about her except the things she was doing with her mouth and hands, trying to draw things out.

He was nearly embarrassed when he felt himself on the edge. “Onheil, I…” He backed his hips away, pressing his behind into the mattress. She chased him with her lips. His body flushed with warmth as she swallowed his orgasm. He knew he was blushing hard from the heat in his ears. He felt boneless and sated, his legs like noodles.

He took a moment to catch his breath. He still hard work to do.

She gasped in apparent surprise when he swiped his tongue along the outside of her lips again like she had forgotten why they were positioned this way. Her heels twitched and scraped against his arms. He pulled her close and her weight shifted. Her palms came to rest against his stomach when she started to sit up. She pressed herself against him, jerking her hips in short, sharp bursts until her thighs shook and her nails dug in and her climax came in a warm gush over his lips and chin.

The room grew quiet in the absence of her moaning, replaced by their mutually heavy breathing. He winced when she dragged her boot-covered leg over his chest to flop down beside him. He felt like he was moving through molasses when he crawled to lie properly beside her. He pulled her face close to kiss her lazily, tasting the salt of himself in her mouth and enjoying the way their tastes mixed on his tongue.

***

Loki dragged her eyes open. She was taken back by the flush in his cheeks and the redness of his lips and she shine of wetness on his skin and the way his gaze burned through her like a hot poker. She hunched forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her. His body shook.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“I can’t. I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

“I demand you stop laughing.” She frowned against his skin. “Why are you laughing?”

“Nervous energy. That was incredibly hot.”

She curled her fingers into his hair. “You never answered me, you know.”

He laughed again, “You’ll have to forgive me, I was a little distracted. I’m not sure I even remember the question.”

“Do you ever think about my ass?”

“Pretty sure I said yes.” His leg flopped over her hip.

“No, I meant… as in _wanting_ it.”

“Oh… _oh._ ” His absent-minded caresses stopped. “I can’t say that I have.”

“Oh.”

“Do you… do you want to?”

“Maybe.”

“Now?”

“No, not now.”

“Okay.” They laid quietly for several breaths. His fingers stroked up her spine and down again “You know, after you said you wanted me dressed up like a dame—I think my imagination shorted out. Like sticking your finger in a socket.” He made a sound like a bug getting caught in a zapper.

“I said no such thing. Pin-up and woman are not automatically equal. And I’m certain I mentioned wanting you in that star-spangled costume.” She mouthed kisses lazily against his neck. He smacked her behind playfully. She made a petulant expression and whined feigned displeasure.

“That was a good end to a birthday. Never thought that would be on my list of presents in a million years.” She snorted out a laugh and rolled onto her back. “Now get those boots off. I want to cuddle. And you kick in your sleep. No way I’m taking that risk.” He moved his legs together in an exaggerated protective pose.

She sat up and pursed her lips, saluted jauntily, “Yes, Captain.”

The phone ringing just after the first warm, pink light of morning saturated the bedroom and bathing the two sleepers in its glow, sent them jolting out of bed. “It’s SHIELD,” Steve said, his tongue thick with open-mouthed breathing through the night.

“It’s mine.” Loki squirmed out of the tangle of sheets and limbs and felt blindly for the phone on the bedside table. “Go back to sleep. It’s going to be a long day.” She hit the button to answer and mumbled greeting into the speaker.

“Rogers’ phone is off. SHIELD-issued phones are not allowed to be turned off.”

“Good morning to you as well, Agent Hill.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I will tell him to turn it back on. Is the camera crew on their way?”

“Not yet. But it would be nice if you could buzz me up. I’ve got bagels and coffee.”

They settled at the kitchen table, bagels in the oven to keep them warm. Loki ripped into hers, savoring the steam that rolled off of the fluffy insides. “He’s still in bed. He was up half the night pacing.”

“Worried about the interview?” Loki shrugged. He hadn’t made any attempt to explain himself. “Well, he can have a few more minutes, but I have to brief him on his talking points.” The water in the shower began to run. “Guess he changed his mind about sleeping in.”

***

Steve somehow found himself full of coffee and carbohydrates, lulled into the false sense of comfort and security they provided, and practically strapped down into a seat in the expansive bathroom with a hairdresser snipping away.

“I like my hair this way.” There were gleaming razors set to one side with a can of some organic shaving cream that smelled like they were planning on basting him like a goddamned turkey. Yesterday had been so lovely. Today was shaping up to be the complete opposite.

“You look like a lumberjack, Cap.” Hill leaned against the sink with her arms and ankles crossed; clearly she’d been talking to Coulson. Steve cringed as hair floated down over his shoulders and slid to the floor on the slick surface of the cape they stuck him in. “And if you want to maintain some sort of anonymity out in public, then you have to present the face that the public knows when you’re playing the game.”

“I hate this.”

“Don’t be rude, darling.” Onheil caressed his unshaven cheek fondly while the hairdresser fiddled with settings on the electric clippers and checked the reference photographs she’d brought along for what Steve was fairly sure was the hundredth time to see how closely trimmed the rest of his head should be. He vaguely recognized the woman from one of SHIELD’s many odd “costume” departments for undercover work. She’d taken forever to make the first snip. He’d asked her to please take a deep breath because he did not think that his ears would grow back if she nicked them off. She’d laughed nervously, exhaled in a heavily coffee-scented rush, and commenced with butchering his hair back into it’s old style.

He agreed with Maria, the basic principle of the whole thing. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. Or that he couldn’t take the opportunity to act like a sullen child. Maria held back a laugh when he pouted and told him he was terrible.

“Ignore his whining, Claire. He’s just hamming it up.”

There was a makeup person waiting for their turn with him. Just a little powder, they said. Just to keep you from being too shiny for the lights and cameras, they said. Just a little complete recalcitrance, he decided.

Coulson called Hill to let her know the television crew was on its way up. “That’s my cue to leave.” Onheil was touchy and overly sweet. It made him worry.

“Stay.”

“No, I’ll be bored out of my mind and a bored Lovebug is not a pleasant Lovebug.” She picked the open can of shaving cream up and sniffed it. “Hmm. Rosemary.” She planted a kiss against his forehead while Claire paused to wipe her blade. He leaned into it, wanting the contact to last. “The absolute second they’re gone, I’ll be back. And I’m always a text away. You know that.”

Steve sighed, “Okay. Go have fun. Find someplace good for dinner.” He swatted the back of her thigh affectionately as she walked away, exaggerating the sway to her hips and looking over her shoulder at him.

Claire put a fingertip under his chin to make him lift it. “She’s fun.” Steve closed his eyes and responded in the affirmative before she ran the blade across his skin again.

The briefing ran completely into one ear and out the other. He didn’t really care what exactly SHIELD had deemed okay to talk about and what they had made the television crew sign waivers and confidentiality agreements and gag orders about. He knew what he would agree to talk about and what he wouldn’t. That was it. Plain and simple.

He would not talk about Onheil. Not the specifics at least. That wasn’t his call, or theirs, to make.

He would talk about Bucky. He would talk about the Howlers. He wouldn’t let them make everything about Captain America.

He would talk about Peggy. He would not discuss the details of their relationship.

He would talk about his life before the serum. Not that he really thought they’d ask.

He would talk about his life after the serum. He would make it about Steve, not Cap.

He would not discuss mission specifics. He would not put lives in danger.

He would discuss his injuries and recovery. He would not discuss specifics.

He would talk about his mental state.

He would make them tell the story he wanted them to tell. He’d at least try. That was all he could do.

He knew enough about filming propaganda to realize that editing was a tricky thing.

“Captain Rogers.” His interviewer shook his hand firmly. He was tall and thin with his hair slicked back just so and his suit perfectly pressed and his pocket square matched smartly with his shirt and tie. “Andrew Bernard. It’s a real pleasure.” Steve nodded and indicated the vacant chair for Bernard to sit in. They’d turned the living room into their set. A pair of sleek armchairs was arranged in the middle of a circle of lighting and sound equipment. Bernard sat down and unbuttoned his jacket. Steve glanced at the reflection of the light in his overly shined shoes and then down at his own socked feet. He’d refused to put on his dress uniform or a suit or a shirt and tie. If he was going to do this he was going to be comfortable. He’d pulled on the blue Henley and the black linen slacks and just refused to change.

“Nice to meet you.” Steve cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. He needed another cup of coffee. “So, this is airing tonight?”

“No, actually, the network wants to make it a special. One of those two hour deals. We’re planning on airing it over the weekend. Sunday night, hopefully.”

“Oh.”

“I was hoping that you’d agree to sit down with me a few more times? Maybe another day of filming at least? Depending on how much we get though today, of course. I don’t plan on taking it easy on you.”

Steve raised a brow. He distinctly remembered Coulson mentioning the opposite. “How so?”

“I’d like to ask the more difficult questions. Ones that other people don’t necessarily dare to…or care to.”

“Interesting.” Steve shrugged. “Let’s get started then.” Bernard’s eyes flashed like a hunter on the prowl.

***

Loki felt like she was suffocating.

The Germany dreams hadn’t stopped. Night after night she heard her child calling for her. Night after night she listened to the pained cries of the beast. Night after night Barton shot her. Night after night the Captain commended him for his good aim. Night after night the people she had grown to love became her undoing.

She was anxious. Her foot bounced with pent up energy as she rode the train into the city. Her skin crawled as she watched people board and depart at each stop, pressing closer and jostling each other. Her body tensed. She disappeared.

She sucked in a heaving breath when she found herself in the middle of the bustling shopping district. She recoiled as a woman with several bags in her grip pushed past her. Loki’s lips curled back into an ugly snarl. The air crackled.

She squashed it down.

She found a spot to sit and watch the flow of people. A gentle push of energy kept them at bay, compelled them silently to steer clear of the space she occupied.

Her foot continued to bounce.

She was anxious because she had let her guard down.

She was anxious because she was trapped.

She was anxious because she was flat out _bored._

Steve could be fun. Steve could be interesting. Steve could be beautiful and biting and challenging and lovely.

Steve was wonderful in small doses and spending every waking moment tending to his many wounds was becoming all-consuming. Loki wondered, albeit briefly, if this was how Sigyn felt. After. When all Loki could do was act out in rage and grief and destruction and helplessness. Anxious and bored and smothered and angry. She physically shook the thought from her head.

All things in moderation.

Steve could be fun when he dropped his own guard and he seemed to only drop that guard anymore when they were in bed. Or on the couch. Or the floor. Or in the tub. She really just wanted to take a bath on her own without him sliding in behind her. She wanted cool porcelain at her back, not overly warm flesh.

Even sex was getting dull.

She was using it to shut him up as much as he was using it to distract her.

Most of all, she felt an overriding sense of simply wanting to be far away. There was no place to run here. In her youth and folly and carelessness she would have run to the woods or the gardens or saddled a horse and ridden to the sea. She would have escaped. There was no escape here. There were always _people_ everywhere. There was nowhere to simply be alone.

At least in New York there was Central Park. It could be crowded and loud but a person could isolate themselves nonetheless. The beauty of New York.

Here, she did not know the lay of the land. It was crowded and confusing and she felt an invisible tether to Steve that disallowed her from exploration and _escape_.

Anxious. Bored. Suffocating. And utterly guilty for placing the blame everywhere but on herself.

_I miss your stupid face. When are you coming home?_

_Soon. I hope._

Drew had been faithfully text messaging her since she arrived in Washington. She explained that Steve had been wrangled into some media hootenanny and that his last physical evaluation would be within the next few days. She just wanted to be home. Sleep in her own bed in her own apartment.

_That thing you ordered showed up, btw._

_The tablet?_

_Yep. Are you going to stop by?_

Loki had been racking her brain trying to come up with something no one else would think of for Steve’s birthday. She hadn’t wanted to simply buy him a book or some miscellaneous art supply. There were no exhibitions coming to New York that she thought he would be interested in—although she didn’t think he’d ever object to simply spending the day at some gallery and then having dinner.

Drew was continuing to deny that there was anything between herself and Agent Coulson. Loki felt she could cut the tension between them with a blade and she might have to stick a blade somewhere if she had to suffer any more of Coulson’s wounded animal expressions when dearest Dr. Carter dismissed him from her lab or bit her lip sweetly and pretended she wasn’t flirting.

At least she’d ditched that cop from New Year’s Eve.

She’d laid eyes on a forensic artist working on a case that came across her laboratory bench. Partially skeletonized remains. Something to do with the mummified digits she’d been working on when last Loki saw her. She’d finally gotten a useable print and a tentative name with a clearly fake photo ID. There was no DNA on file anywhere. So to the artist the job went.

Telsa. That’s what she called him. Loki had no idea if it was his actual name. Drew was in communications with him while he worked his magic with the scull. His rendering was disturbingly close to the photo of the person she’d come across as a possibility.

The fingerprint search and artistic rendering went out to Interpol and Scotland Yard.

A foreign agent in deep cover. The agency was notified, they’d assumed the mission was still active as there had been no contact. The agent shouldn’t have even been in the States. They’d been investigating someone in Quebec.

Identity confirmed.

HYDRA was suspected. Of course. Everything seemed to come back to HYDRA lately. Clearly SHIELD hadn’t done so well in getting rid of them as they thought. It was turning out to be much more than an isolated network.

Drew and Tesla celebrated a job well done on their part at the very least.

“Tessellated is more like it.” Drew had giggled nervously over the phone and told Loki she was an absolute monster.

“That is a terrible pun, by the way. Besides, you wouldn’t get anywhere with a tessellation. Repeated patterns are boring. Variety is the stuff of life.”

In the end, Tesla had come up with the drawing tablet. He suggested one that was good, something that would work well with Steve’s laptop and had a user-friendly program. Loki asked if it would work well for drawing comics. She’d leafed through Steve’s sketchbook while he was in for some medical imaging or another and seen all his thumbnails. Tesla assured her it would work wonderfully.

_Of course._

_Woohoo! I’ll have the J ready. You deserve a night to vegetate with a nice Irishman._

_I have one right here._

_One that’s less… disagreeable. More smooth and well paired with soda._

_!! Don’t be mean_

_T says hello._

_O says hello back._

_How are you getting home? Stark flying you?_

_I thought we’d take the train. I don’t think I like flying. Too boring._

_It’s like 3hrs. You’re going to take CpAm, of all ppl, on an extended train ride?_

_Mayhaps I am a sadist._

_What if he freaks?_

_He won’t._

_:/_

_You can meet us at Penn? I’ll go home with you._

_Onheil, be serious. The man is going to lose his shit. He has a history of LOSING HIS SHIT._

_I’ll leave it up to him. I doubt he will want to take the bus & he’d rather have all his teeth ripped out than ask Stark for a favor._

_Ask Potts._

_We’ll see._

_Be safe you big idiot._

The noise and movement of the people around her faded into static. She stared at everything and nothing.

The ringing and vibrating of her phone on the table startled her back to reality. “What?”

“Onheil?” Steve’s voice was soft and quiet. “I—I’m sorry. I’m interrupting something, I guess.”

“Steve? I—no. Don’t…don’t be sorry. I was distracted. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“No, really, I, um… We took a break. It’s lunchtime. So we took a break… I needed a break.”

“They can’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“That’s not it.”

“Do you need me to come back?”

“No. I just… I just wanted to hear you. That’s all. Hold on.” It sounded like he put the phone down. There was rustling and the sound of him blowing his nose noisily. “Sorry. You having fun?”

“Sure.”

“That doesn’t sound like it.”

“Just people-watching.”

“Tell me about it.”

“There is a woman with a younger woman. They look like sisters. They’re arguing.” She scanned the crowd looking for something more interesting. “There is a young father with two children. Twins. He looks slightly overworked. They’re climbing the table while he is drinking coffee. I think he needs an extra shot of espresso.” Steve laughed softly. “A young couple. She is dragging him by the wrist and chattering. He needs a belt. No one needs to see that he has purple underwear on.”

“You been people-watching all day?”

Loki glanced at the watch on her wrist. “I suppose so. I’ll head back to you soon. Or do you want to meet me at the restaurant? I picked one.” She didn’t. She’d find one when she hung up.

“I don’t think I want to go out tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“You go without me.” He paused for a beat. “Call Maria. I’m sure she’d love to join you. I’ll ask her as soon as I hang up.”

“It’s alright. I’ll come back.” It wasn’t alright, but she couldn’t stand to sit through an evening with the knowledge that he was back at Stark’s place martyring himself. Two could play at that game and it was one Loki played quite well.

***

“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Bernard smelled like cigarette smoke. He’d been out on the balcony inhaling his lunch and speaking in hushed tones on his cell phone.

“Yeah, I’m good. Can we maybe get through all the serious questions today? You can ask me all about baseball and books and how terrible I was at flirting tomorrow.”

He laughed, “Sure. We can, ah, finish discussing Barnes and maybe move on to Agent Carter?”

Steve pursed his lips, avoiding an outright _no._ He nodded and settled back into his seat. “Where were we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The singing frog Steve refers to is Kermit, of course. And the kid with two first names is Phillip Phillips.
> 
> The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is both a literal tomb and a monument at Arlington National Cemetery. It holds remains of soldiers from WWI, WWII, and Korea. The space formerly occupied by an Unknown from Vietnam is empty and will stay empty. The remains interred there were identified through mtDNA testing and exhumed. The 3rd US Infantry Regiment guards the Unknowns 24/7/365 no matter what the weather conditions are. They're known as "The Old Guard" and they change every hour on the hour. Volunteers wishing to have the honor of being a sentinel for the Unknowns go through a very strict screening and training process. You can find out more about the Unknown Soldiers as well as the The Old Guard at the Arlington National Cemetery's website.
> 
> Back in Steve's day, Coke really did just cost a nickel. For the first 70 years of production, that was the price! It had to do with a deal the president of the company made with a couple of lawyers who wanted to buy bottling rights. He realized that if the price of a bottle went up, he wouldn't make any money because of the fixed rate he agreed on. So, he put up billboards everywhere proclaiming that Coke was only a nickel. Made it really hard to raise the price. They also started putting out vending machines that would only accept nickels. Pretty damned ingenious. In the late 40s, inflation forced a price jump to 6 cents and then the last nickel Cokes were sold in '59.
> 
> These next few chapters are sort of purposefully a little disjointed and manic because, well, Steve and Loki are a little disjointed and manic.
> 
> As ever, thanks for reading and for the feedback.


	79. Mutual Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Highs and lows and heading home.

“Steve.” He turned toward Maria. She was standing in the middle of the living room having just finished scanning the equipment that the television crew left behind for listening or recording devices. She slipped the thing she called a “sniffer” into her pocket and chewed her lip.

“Yeah?” He set the coffee cups he’d gathered from around the room down on the side table. “Is something wrong? Did I say some—“

“Steve, can I… can I hug you?” He was taken back by the request. He nodded and stood awkwardly while she crossed the room. She ducked her head, tucking it carefully under his chin, and wrapped her arms around him. It was alarming and comforting all at once. The Maria he knew was funny and sharp in the moments that she was not wearing the “agent” hat. She was easygoing and didn’t shy away from touch the way some of the other agents did in their quest to maintain their aloof and mysterious personas. But the Maria he knew wasn’t overly affectionate, either. “I didn’t know… no one… Steve, I’m so sorry. You didn’t have to talk about any of that, but you—“

He peeled himself away from her. “It’s fine. I wanted to.” He took a step back and she shoved her hands in her pockets as if unable to decide what to do with them. “I feel good about it. Talking about it, I mean.”

“Steve, you thought you were dying. I—“

“But I didn’t. I was just… I don’t know. Hibernating.”

“Do you want… do you need…” She screwed up her features, struggling to find the right words.

“Don’t worry about it. Really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Really, really.”

“I can get Cooper flown down.”

“Don’t need ‘im. And if I did, the phone works pretty well. I’ve got you watching my back and Onheil coming home with dinner. I’m going to get a good night’s sleep and tomorrow we’re going to steer clear of all of the hard stuff and I’m going to tell the world about how I was before I joined the Army and how much I like the future and how little like a bewildered caveman I am.”

Maria grinned and picked up a mug he missed to follow him into the kitchen.

“What the heck is that?” Whatever Onheil was pulling out of the paper bag she came home with sure smelled wonderful but Steve was fairly sure he’d never seen anything like it before. He popped the top off of a container filled with bright green _stuff_ —there was no other way to describe it. A non-Newtonian liquid? Oh yes, he knew what non-Newtonian liquids were. He absolutely paid attention when the science-types talked. Whatever it was, it smelled like summer.

“Saag paneer. Spinach and cheese.”

“And that?”

“Aloo tiki.” They looked like potato pancakes. He nicked one out of the tray and discovered that indeed, they were. Onheil placed another container down, “Chicken tikka masala.”

“I know what these are!” Steve grinned and dumped a heaping spoonful of Basmati rice onto his plate and claimed a piece of steamy flat bread smeared with garlic for himself.

Maria, having been told she had to stay for dinner, served herself and stifled a laugh.

“I can’t believe you live in New York, with all of that variety, and you’ve never had any of this.”

“I’ve absolutely had naan before.” The two ladies eyed him suspiciously, impressed by the fact that he knew the word for _bread_ but doubting he was telling the truth. “It’s not like I haven’t been to the supermarket.”

Later, sated and drowsy, Steve walked Maria to the elevator. “I promise, I’m _fine._ ”

“But you tend to do this thing where you say you’re fine, but you’re really not.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

“Everyone’s noticed that.”

“Scout’s honor. Even though I never was one.”

“So you’re reputation as America’s Boy Scout is entirely false?”

“Entirely. Think I should debunk that one tomorrow?”

“Nah, it’s too engrained in the mythos of the Captain. People will be outraged!” She laughed and squeezed his shoulder before stepping into the elevator. “Bright and early, Cap.”

***

Steve spoke in low, even tones in the darkness of the bedroom. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers fondled the hem of Loki’s shorts, a foot between their bodies and he still found some way to be physically close to her. As many of his personality quirks and habits were, it was both exceedingly endearing and equally frustrating.

He told her the things he talked about with the man who came to interview him. He sounded like he was reading a script off of the blank white ceiling overhead.

“I’ll stay tomorrow.”

“He already asked about you. They’ll try to get you on camera.”

“I have a fair amount of autonomy and lips with which to say _no._ ”

“Why do you want to stay?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I want to see you in action.”

“It was pretty awkward.”

“I like it when you’re awkward. Sometimes.” Loki was frankly, insulted.

Insulted that he’d opened up to this person he didn’t know, but couldn’t seem to find it in him to open up to his lover—someone he claimed to trust completely and unconditionally.

***

Steve’s spindly fingers gripped the sides of the wagon bed as it rushed over the uneven pavement in the middle of the street. Storefronts went by in a blur of color. It was during schemes like this that it was a good thing there weren’t many automobiles in their neighborhood.

“Fah-ah-ah-sss-t-rrrrr!”

The wind created by the speed Bucky was running at, pulling the wagon along behind him that held school books and dry groceries and Steve, chilled Steve’s skin and blew his hair wildly. The autumn had finally turned chilly. He’d have a burn on his cheeks and his knuckles would be raw and chapped but he didn’t care.

It was almost like running if he squatted in the bed of the wagon so that it rumbled against his feet and sent waves of vibration up his legs.

Bucky’s shoes slapped against the pavement. “Git outtah tha street ya feckin’ knucle’eds!” Bucky ran faster.

Steve pitched forward in the wagon he watched as an apple fell from the grocer’s stand and hit the ground. It rolled into the street as if in slow motion. He let out a scream that would leave his throat and lungs feeling raw for hours as he held onto the handle of the Liberty Coaster with all of the strength he could muster.

Bucky cleared the apple, probably didn’t even notice it. The wheel caught the fruit. The wagon flipped. Bucky fell onto hands and knees with a startled yelp. Steve rolled head-head-over-heels onto the pavement like tumbleweed with the other contents of the wagon when it upturned.

“Steve!” He rolled onto his back and Bucky dropped down beside him, poking and prodding at his limbs and feeling his head. “Stevie! Are y’kay?” His face was as mask of horror and concern and guilt.

The warm ooze of blood across his forehead felt odd in contrast to the cool air. “It’s Rogers and Barnes,” someone mumbled as adults crowded around, not quite making a move to help just yet, waiting to see if the situation actually warranted it. “Typical.”

“He ah’ite? Need a medic?”

“Stevie?” Bucky swiped his thumb across Steve’s brow as he helped him sit up to keep the fat drop of blood from rolling down into his eye.

Steve wheezed for a long moment, silently assessing the damage to the knees of his trousers and the unforgivable scuffs on the toes of his shoes. New shoes. His ma was going to have a heart attack—and that wasn’t even considering the fact that he was fairly certain something inside him might have shattered, or at least that’s how it felt.

“Let’s go again.”

***

Steve laughed, “No, I learned at a very young age that I liked to go fast. Loved it. _Craved_ it. Probably because I couldn’t. But anything that could get me moving, I just dove in head first for.”

“So the tricked out motorcycle they’ve got on display down at the museum is just as much fantasy as function?”

“Absolutely. There was actually a point that Colonel Phillips sat Howard and I down and ordered a sort of cease-and-desist. We just kept coming up with things to put into it and if anyone could figure out how to make it all fit and make it all work, it was Howard. The limit was my imagination and I have always had a _very_ vivid imagination. That bike was amazing. Not just because it had a lot of cool buttons that did things like shooting fire and throwing trip lines. Because it was fast and smooth and when I was riding it—fuck—I felt _alive._ ”

The second day of interviewing was much more light-hearted. It felt more like friendly banter than anything else. He could feel himself slipping into old patterns, the good ones. He felt his body relaxing. He noticed the uptick in his rate of obscenities-per-statement; something that used to be healthy and joking competition from foxhole to foxhole and that his mother would have washed his mouth out with her bar of Palmolive if she’d heard. He was usually much more eloquent than all that, or, he used to be. Before Onheil. Before the Lost Week. Before letting people in.

But it felt good all the same.

He felt like his shell was cracking.

Who could have possibly guessed that an interview for television, something that was going to potentially destroy the careful shield he’d built around himself and his public persona, would have been the thing that did it?

He trusted Bernard. Steve had seen his reports before; he always managed to show the whole story, not just one side or the other. He seemed genuinely interested in Steve as a person, which helped immensely.

They’d spent the better part of the morning talking about the adventures and misadventures of the Commandos. It felt good to talk about them, to tell their stories. After that, Steve had gotten to talking about the trouble he and Bucky had gotten into as teenagers and children and about how his mother was the fiercest, smartest woman he’d ever known.

“I don’t know about you, but I need a break.” Bernard smiled and nodded toward the balcony doors to indicate he needed a cigarette.

“Sure, I could use one too.” He rose from his seat and padded toward the kitchen in search of something cold to drink.

***

“That crap will kill you.”

“ _Jesus!_ ” The man that was questioning Steve jumped practically out of his skin. Loki laughed openly at his startle. “You gave me a goddamned heart attack.” He squinted as he looked her over. She laid the book she was reading down across her thighs and threw an arm up over her head against the back of the lounger, preening under his scrutiny. “You’re the girlfriend.”

“Maybe.” Loki pursed her lips and frowned. “I don’t think I really like the word _girlfriend_ , though. It implies something… childlike. I haven’t been a child for a very long time. Hundreds of Earth-years, it would seem.” She raised a brow, gauging his reaction. He hollowed his cheeks as he took a drag on his cigarette, seemingly unruffled. “What of it?”

“I want you on camera.”

“And I want to sit on a gilded throne and watch as people quake in fear of me.” Something like humor flashed across his dark eyes. He raised a brow and waved his hand to indicate he wanted to sit. Loki drew her legs up to afford him the end of the lounger. “I truly don’t want the attention, Mr. Bernard. I very purposefully lead a rather dull and anonymous life. I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Then I’m not sure being involved with a celebrity is the best thing to do.” Loki shrugged. “If I’m honest, which I always am, mind you—I’d say you’re attempting the opposite. You like the attention. You’re cultivating a reputation. You’re that mysterious woman. You’re surrounded by a cloud of interest and intrigue and everyone wants a piece of you.”

“Then everyone will be quite disappointed. I’m not planning on giving out any slices.”

“I want you side-by-side with him on that couch. I want the story of how you met. The whole star-crossed lovers scene. The rainstorm. The polka dotted umbrella. The guy at the bar. Captain America defending your honor and getting you home safely.”

Loki counted to ten in her head. She drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. _How the fuck did he know all of that?_ “You’re not going to get it.”

“Miss Ferguson,” Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “you’re not quite as mysterious or hard to pin down as you’d like to think you are.”

“Am I? Oh dear.”

“Captain Rogers is pretty easy to find. Especially when he does things like hand out cases of bottled water at the church he attends during community emergencies. Finding a contact point for the kid who took the photos for the blurb in the _Bugle_ was even easier. Kids these days, their whole lives are on the internet, you know.’

“Ah, the infamous Peter Parker?”

“The very same. He sang like a canary when I told him who I was and offered him an internship at the station for his troubles. Smart kid. Very capable. Jonah isn’t using him to his full potential, really.”

“Well, if he was truthfully that smart then he would have kept his little beak firmly latched.”

“Said you were a waitress and that Rogers called you _Margaret Barnes_.”

“Did he, now?” She decided she’d need to have a chat with young Mr. Parker.

“He certainly did. I think you can see how thin a veil that one was. It was sweet though, trying to protect you, calling you after two of the most important people in his life. Would have been more believable if it wasn’t so tragic.” Loki nodded and folded her arms. “The church made his neighborhood easy to find and from there it was more than easy to find the places he frequents, people he talks to. Your boy keeps a predictable schedule.”

“He does. It can get rather monotonous when it’s not utterly endearing.”

“Well, the café was pretty easy to find, to say the least. You’ve got an adoring set of fans there. Evidently you’re funny and smart and artistic and have a way with kids and national icons.” Loki snorted a laugh. “But do you know what I think?”

“No, do tell.”

“I don’t think you’re just a waitress.”

“What am I?”

“You disappear. You disappear when Rogers does. I think you work with him. I think you’re an agent, too. I think the small town girl trying to make it in the big city act is just that: an act, a cover. But the interesting thing, in my opinion, is that no one really knows jack-shit about you. They can tell plenty of stories about you prancing around dressed up like a USO girl. They can tell me all about your great taste in music and literature. They can tell me about the interesting things you paint. The things they can’t tell me far outweigh all of that. No one knows where you came from. Or where you went to school. What you did before you began your thrilling career as a waitress—aside, of course, from the short-lived stint as a librarian. Can’t tell me if you have any family… So my biggest question: does Captain Rogers even know who you are?”

“Sure your name isn’t really Sherlock Holmes?”

“No need to be sarcastic, Miss Ferguson.”

“And if I am and agent? You’ll compromise me. Possibly compromise national security, endanger other agents in the field. I don’t think SHIELD will like that very much. I think you might find yourself rethinking what I believe you’re implying.”

“I want you on camera, Miss Ferguson.” He rose from his seat and took one last long drag on his cigarette. He held the smoke in for a beat before exhaling slowly out toward the edge of the balcony. “I want that mystique destroyed.”

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. Loki looked over her shoulder a smiled a Steve. “Hello, darling.”

“He botherin’ you, Lovebug?” Bernard’s brow shot up in surprise.

“Not at all. We were having quite the interesting conversation. I was just about to agree to spend some time in front of dear Andrew’s camera. On my terms, of course.” She rose from her seat and went to his side. He slipped his arm around her waist and pressed his lips, dry and light, against her temple. “Do you think Agent Hill would be able to assist?”

“I don’t see why not.” She reached out to smooth his hair back. He looked back at Bernard, “I’m ready to keep going if you are.”

“Of course, Captain.” He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray he’d left outside the day before. Loki imagined hitting him in the head with the heavy hunk of glass. He looked slightly worried as he watched her lips curl into a smile. Steve squeezed Loki’s waist affectionately and turned back inside.

Loki watched him go, her smile turning soft and sweet. “If you hurt him, I’ll hurt you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, more like a promise.”

Bernard crossed toward the doorway, leaning close to speak to her. “Should I call you Ellie or Onheil?”

“Miss Ferguson is perfectly sufficient.”

Maria appeared, a stern look on her face. Bernard inclined his head at Loki and headed back in toward the set in the living room. “Is there a problem?”

Loki shook her head, “Not at all. Just issuing mutual threats.”

“Onheil, you can’t do—“

“I wasn’t serious.” She was absolutely serious. “I’ll make an appearance if it will make things easier for Steve. I do have conditions, though.” She would appear only at a distance. Didn’t they always include some sort of shot of the person being interviewed walking off into the sunset? She would appear only if her face was not shown. She would not speak. Her name would not be mentioned. “Essentially, it will be the picture from the _Times_ in motion. I will agree to nothing more.”

Maria’s shoulders slumped in what appeared to be relief, “Holy shit that makes my life so much easier. The network people have been emailing me non-stop.” She sat down heavily on the end of the lounger, “Thank you. I didn’t want to ask you to do it. You don’t have to, you know. You’re not part of the deal no matter how much they want the scoop.”

“Considering the information he just admitted to having—my name, place of work, theories about my working for SHIELD—I think it better that I relent on my own terms rather than having my hand forced.”

“Sounds like he forced it already. Do we need to have another chat about gag orders and confidentiality?”

“No, not yet, at least. I had to anticipate this at some point.” Loki crossed her arms, hugging herself. She hadn’t had any news from Hel in some time. There was no indication that Thor had come to Midgard or was planning to. She had a nagging feeling that she was going to be surprised and it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Onheil, they’re not going to find you. Whoever you’re hiding from? You’re ours. They can’t have you.” Maria reached out and patted her arm tentatively. “SHIELD… your _friends_ , we’re going to keep on protecting you. Don’t you believe that yet?”

The declaration of protection and friendship seemed to come completely out of nowhere. It was easy to forget that these people still presumably believed she was a victimized young woman on the run. Someone deserving of their sympathy. Someone they could trust. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. But, since you’re here today, it’s your job to text him ridiculous things.” Loki laughed and asked what she meant. “When things got too heavy or he was getting agitated yesterday? I texted him. Filthy jokes and pictures of hamsters with food shoved in their cheeks, mostly.” She puffed her cheeks up with air in demonstration. “So today it’s your turn. Just don’t distract him too much.”

***

Steve was wheezing, his face bright red. He clutched at his stomach as he sucked in breath and laughed. The sound rolled up from the soles of his feet and exploded out of him. “Onheil, you can do that.”

“Do what?” She grinned and batted her eyelashes demurely.

She’d found a photoshopped picture on the internet and sent it to his phone. He’d ignored the flash of light and the quiet vibration in favor of finishing his response. It was the last question of the day. He checked the message while the sound guy was taking the microphone off of him for the last time. He had to excuse himself.

_Yes, please._ It was the caption that got him.

He had to admit, whoever had done the manipulation had some serious talent. You’d never know he didn’t belong in the patriotic skirt and vest or that his face didn’t belong on the body the outfit was pasted onto.

“C’mon, get control of yourself. The therapist is waiting. I want to watch you do squats.” Steve continued to chuckle while he changed into sweats and a tee shirt. They’d film his last session. He found himself excited to get though it. He felt strong.

The ridiculous ups and downs were exhausting. He’d need to talk to Cooper about that. If his meds weren’t working effectively anymore he wanted to nip it in the bud before things got bad.

Getting through this session meant he was one step closer to being home. He’d process the fact that he had to deal with returning to SHIELD later. Just focus on the small steps.

Tomorrow they’d film something with Onheil. They’d do some truly pointless sounding photo shoot.

The next day they’d travel back to New York.

He didn’t even mind the camera while he was going through the motions of squatting and lunging and walking like he was taking a sobriety test and going up and down a little set of stairs and balancing on one foot or the other. He thought fleetingly that it would make him seem weak, that Captain America needed this. He pushed the thought from his head as he pretended to be pushing the floor down with the palms of his hands, folding himself in half. This is what people who were injured did. It was necessary. It wasn’t weakness, it was regaining strength.

“So, how is the emotional whiplash?” His therapist was going over her checklist one last time, making casual conversation after the cameras had gone for the evening.

“Very… whiplash-y. I’m working on it. I feel kind of manic? A bit like I did when they were figuring out my meds.”

“Promise me you’ll get help if it doesn’t get better?”

“Of course.”

“So, I think we’re done. As far as I’m concerned, you’re good to go. You’ve got an appointment with your doc, though?”

“Yeah, I just wanted to ask a couple of questions, maybe see everybody to say thank you before I leave for New York.”

“Well, take care of yourself, Steve.” She didn’t hesitate to wrap him in a warm hug before she stepped onto the elevator.

Onheil whined in displeasure that night in bed when he gathered her into his arms and blew a noisy raspberry against the curve of her neck. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m happy.”

“You’re _annoying_.”

“You love it.” He squirmed and tensed and twitched and tried desperately not to laugh while she prodded at his side.

“Stop being an overgrown child and kiss me.” He pecked a kiss against the tip of her nose. “Like you mean it.” He leaned down and caught her lips in his, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth and tugging as he pulled away.

“I always mean it.” She sat up to better arrange the pillows around herself, his body forming one side of her nest. “Onheil?”

“Mm.” She settled down beside him and he tugged the comforter up over her bare shoulder.

“Are we going to talk about how you haven’t slept through a single night since I was released?”

“I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Alright then.”

She was silent in the darkness; he could feel her features contorting against his bicep where the side of her face was pressed. “I want to take the train home.”

“I was going to rent a car. I thought the drive would be nice.”

“That’s a very long drive.”

“We can do the train.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm.” He wasn’t. It wasn’t like the subway with the safety of tile and brick tunnels all around. He’d deal with it. He’d sleep. Or read. Or something. “You should sleep. We have an early morning.”

***

Sam Wilson believed that a few things were absolute truths. One of those truths was that part of keeping your mind healthy was doing your best to keep your body healthy too. When he first started counseling at the VA, he’d started up a group that would run together every morning. It was familiar for everyone—sunrise runs and hikes and drills in every kind of weather at basic, running and lifting to keep in shape and kill time on tours. It was familiar and safe and felt good.

The group had started strong, a good fifteen people on any morning. Not everyone joined in every day, but that was fine. It was the effort to do good by yourself and be in the world and be with people who understood you and cared about you that really counted. The effort. The work you put in.

The group dwindled slowly. Started off with just more people not participating daily. Then a few got sent out on tours, those not quite out yet. Then a few more just lost the confidence or drive. At least one moved. One just dropped out of contact and stopped coming around to the VA.

Soon enough, it was just Sam.

But he kept going. Left the offer out there. Reminded people at meetings that he was still doing it and when and where he’d be running.

Sometimes, someone joined him and that was great.

“Man, c’mon!”

“I’m sorry, we’re filming. You have to find another path.”

“I run this route every morning. At the same time. Every. Morning.”

It really wasn’t a huge deal. There were plenty of paths. But this was his routine.

It wasn’t this poor, hassled looking intern’s fault. He fully realized that. He’d woken up on entirely the wrong side of the bed and had been _so_ looking forward to just running the funk off. Dreams of falling out of the sky and knocking out on the couch weren’t the greatest combination.

Two people ran beside each other in front of the steps to the Lincoln Memorial. They ran from one end to the other and then walked back to go again while the camera rolled.

Someone’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie at the intern’s hip, griping about getting something out of the van and not just standing there being useless. Sam folded his arms and pursed his lips, “It’s fine. I’ll take the long way, just this once.” He started down the side of the Reflecting Pool, the ducks honked as if annoyed at his presence. “Hey!” The intern’s shoulder’s tensed. The walkie squawked some more. “Don’t take that crap, kid.” The intern waved and Sam continued on his way.

“No, Steve.”

“C’mon.”

“Nope. I hate running almost as much as I hate mornings. I don’t know how I allowed you to talk me into this. This was a horrible scenario. I am finished and I want to go back to the apartment.”

“They wanted something _quintessentially me._ This is that. Run, draw, eat, sleep. Save the world on occasion. They already filmed over my shoulder while I drew something. I don’t think a clip of me scarfing down a slice of pizza or out cold in bed would really interest the intended audience.” The woman laughed, clearly finding the comment absurd. “And you like running. Don’t lie.”

“I like running when it gets me somewhere. That was just pointless.”

Sam slowed to a stop. It was like the camera was following him. Who the heck were they filming? It couldn’t be a movie. They put signs everywhere days ahead of time for that nonsense. News, maybe? But how were two people running considered news? Was there really nothing else going on in the world? He checked out the name of the network on the side of the van parked at the curb. There was no way two people running was that important that it was going to be featured on _World News_. Nope.

There was a woman lying on the grass under the trees he usually rested under before heading home. There was a tall, muscular man standing over her with his hands on his hips. _He has got no ass,_ Sam thought to himself. He wondered how someone achieved such a triangular physique, all broad shoulders and a tiny waist. It reminded him of that cartoon with the blonde guy who couldn’t get a date and talked like Elvis.

“You are the laziest person I have ever known.” He extended a hand out to her and she took it. He pulled her upright onto her feet and swung her around. He pulled the lady close and murmured something to her before snatching her cap off of her head. From where Sam was standing, he could see that they were giving each other one hell of a smooch. From where the camera was positioned, all they’d see would be the cap held over their faces. Embarrassed at himself for staring, Sam looked away. The guy looked familiar, Sam couldn’t quite place it.

He turned toward the path he’d come down and headed for home.

***

“I feel foolish.”

“Why?”

“Why do I have to have my portrait taken?”

“It’s for their promos. And it’ll be good to have some photos of you out there looking like a regular person that aren’t paparazzi shots of you crossing the street or eating in a restaurant.”

“I _am_ a regular person.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, Steve.” Maria laughed softly, trying to let the tension out of the situation.

Onheil was standing behind the photographer, watching as pictures appeared on the screen of the laptop that the camera was connected to. She looked up at him and smiled, gave a subtle thumbs up. Steve lost count of the number of pictures they took.

“Can we head back to the Mall?”

“What for?”

“My producer wants a shot of you at the World War II memorial.”

“Oh.”

“The crew needs to break for dinner, do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

It was evening by the time they arrived at the memorial. Onheil elected not to come along. She said she felt like it seemed she was hovering. He told her she wasn’t, that it would be good if she came along. No, she said. It would create more tension, she said. She didn’t trust Andrew Bernard, she said.

She didn’t trust anyone. It was a little tiresome. She’d been in New York for what? Two years, he was fairly sure. Maybe not quite. No one had come to drag her back to Arizona. No one had come asking about her. The only contact she’d had was that mysterious friend who she claimed had warned her about her brother traveling to the city. Sometimes he felt himself doubting that any of that ordeal was actually true, that maybe she’d just had some kind of breakdown and didn’t want to admit it. He, of all people, wouldn’t have held it against her.

Looking at the wall full of stars, their reflections in the pool beneath, Steve felt like the world was caving in on him. He felt lost in the small universe of golden shapes and bright light bulbs. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. Moving.

It was a galaxy full of souls given up too soon.

Hot wind blew across his face and rustled the leaves of the trees all around the paths to the many memorials and monuments that made up the Mall adding another layer to the white noise of the fountains at his back.

It made his skin prickle and his heart thud faster. He imagined the sounds of shattering glass, the hiss of releasing air locks, the whine of emergency alerts.

Onheil wasn’t at the apartment when he got back. He headed for the bathroom and stood under the shower, water as hot as he could tolerate raining down over his shoulders and swirling around his feet. He’d finally figured out the purpose of having a shower like a small room—served dual purpose as a sauna of sorts. He stepped out from beneath the flow of water and thumbed at the control panel beside the seat on the wall. The water cut off. The glass quickly fogged over and he breathed in humid air, trying to chase away the chill that had settled into his bones.

The highs were great, but the lows were small and cold and alone.

***

“Your ass looks quite lovely all pressed up against the glass like that.” Steve looked up when Loki opened the door to poke her head inside the shower.

“Where’d you go?”

“I’ve been sitting outside on the balcony. Have you been back long?”

“No. I didn’t think you were here.” She stepped back and stripped out of her clothes before joining him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Not really.”

“Tell me.” She sat down on the edge of the seat and crossed her legs, pulled her hair over her shoulder. She worked her fingers through the strands to unweave her braid.

“Don’t want to.”

“That’s not very healthy.”

“Pot,” he tipped his head back against the glass and gestured to Loki. “Kettle,” he gestured to himself.

Loki stood and moved toward the shower door, “I’ll leave you alone then.”

“Don’t.” She paused, her hand on the latch. “Come here?” His expression was as broken as it was earnest. She hesitated for a moment before crossing the short distance to him and allowing him to close his arms around her. His embrace was uncomfortable, arms too tight and skin too hot. She squirmed against him and he relented.

“Can it be kissed away?”

“Probably not.” One side of his mouth twitched up in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Can I try anyway?” Why not? Wasn’t that what they’d been doing since he was released? Fucking the pain away in some form or another? He let out a breathy laugh and leaned forward to meet her lips. “It’s over.” He made a sound of agreement as he prodded her lips with his tongue. His hands gripped her hips. “We get to go home tomorrow.” Another agreement. “You get to have coffee from the shop again.” He moaned as if in the throes of passion. Loki couldn’t help but laugh. They stood nose-to-nose, shoulders shaking with their mirth. He closed his eyes, his face and body relaxing against hers. It seemed if he wasn’t sandwiched against the glass he might fall over. “Please talk to me.”

“I,” he turned his face completely away and worried at his bottom lip. “I was cold.” His voice dropped off to a whisper.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t find me.” His hands stroked up her back, blindly tracing the lines of the tattoo she was sure he’d had memorized since the first time he saw it with his ridiculous memory and eye for tiny details.

“It’s okay.” It wasn’t, she knew it wasn’t, but she wasn’t in the mood for argument. “Can you just keep kissing me? That kind of helped.”

“Oh, did it?”

He pecked at her lips and cheeks tentatively, pulling her close and groping for purchase at her sides like he was trying to make sure she was real. He dipped his face down to the crook of her neck, mouth immediately latching onto her favorite spot. She insinuated her hands between their bodies and ran her fingernails lightly down the length of him. His teeth grazed her skin just a little too roughly. She groaned, unsure whether to identify the sensation as good or unpleasant or something grey and in-between.

His hands gripped her backside firmly, his fingertips digging into muscle with bruising force. His lips stopped working and he rolled his hips in short bursts into the circle of her fingers.

Certainly someplace grey and in-between.

He whined when she let go and set to prying his hands away. His face was flushed with color deeper than the heat of the steam could raise. He searched her face, seemingly alarmed. He sucked in breath with a great heave of his chest, “I-I’m sorry. I… too hard. I’m _sorry_.” His hands fluttered nervously for a moment before he let his arms fall to his sides and pressed his palms to the glass behind him.

Loki shook her head, unable to forma response for fear of laughing. She pressed a closed-mouth kiss to his lips, “Turn around.” He made a confused face. “Do it.”

“I feel stupid.” She put her hands on his hips and guided him back a few steps.

“Hush.” She molded her body to his back, their skin sticking and sliding with sweat and condensation from the humid air. She took his hands and made him place his palms against the glass while she admired the smear his body had left there, quickly fogging over again in his absence.

Loki’s lips worked at the spot of delicate skin just behind Steve’s ear while her fingers worked at the tense muscles of his arms and over his shoulders and across his chest. His breath hitched in mild surprise when she dared roll a nipple between her fingers. “Stop?” He shook his head and let his chin fall to rest against his chest. “Still cold?” He made a sound somewhere between yes and no and drew his stomach in away from her touch and the scratch of her nails.

With a grounding hand on his belly, she took him in hand to stroke in slow, languid gestures. He exhaled slowly. His shoulders dropped and he shifted his weight. “Let me do the work.” He leaned heavily against her, his back curved into her. He mumbled something that she didn’t quite catch. “Hm?”

Steve tipped his head back onto her shoulder and turned toward her ear. He sucked the lobe into his mouth, along with some hair, Loki was fairly sure, although it seemed he didn’t care. “Is this part two?”

“Part two of what?”

“My birthday present. You said there was a part two.”

Loki laughed and rubbed light circles around the head of his cock with her thumb. He gasped and his body tensed for a second. “No, this is not part two. That’s an actual thing. Something to unwrap and play with.” Steve laughed in turn. “You’re filthy, I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

“You seem to like it when I’m filthy, though.” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

She pushed her hips forward against him, encouraging him with small motions. “Which part is filthy? Your face between my legs or your fingers buried inside me?” He made a strangled sound and thrust his hips into the circle of her fingers as she continued to stroke. “That’s not filthy. That’s a mindful lover.”

Loki teased Steve. She slowed and stopped her stroking and twisting and rubbing each time he gained traction or momentum. She held her hand out and wrapped her arm around him. She scratched and poked and distracted him, inducing maniacal sounds when she prodded the spot in his side that reduced him to hysterics in time with her swipes at his head.

He pushed his backside against her, arching his back to escape her prodding. Her face flushed and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. He made the most obscene and delicious shapes with his body contorted that way. He was driving her to distraction with his flexing stomach beneath her palm and the grind of his backside against her pelvis. She pushed back against him and pressed her forehead to his shoulder.

Loki choked on the groan that ripped up her throat as she imagined the sensation of sinking her cock into Steve. To simply change forms. To be her usual self. To fuck away the hurt in earnest rather than continuing to pretend she was someone she wasn’t, even if the body was her own. To be with him in reality the way she was with him in her dreams.

She smoothed her hand around his waist and with a loose fist, dragged her knuckles down the base of his spine. She insinuated her hand between them, stroking her fingers against the cleft of his ass. He deepened the curve of his back, jerking his hips down faster into her grip.

Loki rubbed her fingertips gently around the tight ring of muscle and down into the space between it and his testicles. Steve moaned openly, his hips stuttering as he came with her name on his lips like an earnest prayer.

The name he called her, at the very least.

His arms trembled, the streaks in the condensation on the glass wild with the effort he exerted in keeping himself upright. Loki wrapped her arms around him, hugging his body close and laying soft kisses over his shoulders while he panted and shook. He huffed out a laugh, “I think I need another shower.” His voice was soft and rough, fat tears rolled down over his cheeks.

***

“You’re entirely too perky this morning.” Onheil’s shoes made quiet scuffs against the pavement. It was still fairly dark; their path was lit by the streetlights and the lingering stars in the steadily lightening sky.

“It’s Going Home Day. Of course I’m perky.” They rounded a corner and waited for the streetlight. “And I actually got a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a while.”

“Who knew sex and crying made men lethargic?” Steve laughed and took off for the opposite corner.

They ran toward the Mall, following the twisting paths through the memorials and around the monuments.

There was a man ahead of them as they came upon the Reflecting Pool jogging at a diligent pace, the back of his shirt soaked with perspiration. Onheil stuck out her tongue at Steve and picked up her pace. Her ponytail swung wildly behind her as she pulled ahead. He loved to watch her go, to commit all of her shapes to memory to put down on paper later.

“Pardon me!”

“Uh huh!”

Steve laughed to himself and sped up. “On your left!”

“Yup!”

He darted past the other runner to catch up with Onheil. “C’mon! You gonna let a senior citizen out pace you?”

“You know, Captain darling, you certainly don’t mind playing the old man card when it benefits your own lame humor!”

Freshly showered for what seemed like the fifth time in twenty-four hours, Steve waited in his doctor’s office back at the hospital. Onheil was at the apartment packing their bags. The cab that was waiting for Steve downstairs would take them to the train station.

“So,” the doctor folded his hands on the desk in front of him after sliding some papers neatly back into a patient file. “What do you want to talk about? I kind of figured you’d prefer the phone, get the hell out of here as soon as humanly possibly.”

“Well, I wanted to stop in an see everyone first, say thanks.” The doctor nodded and gestured for Steve to continue. “I, um, I was wondering if I could get some information from you, though.”

“Depends on what kind of information. Concerning yourself or you treatment, I’m sure?”

“Yeah, could I see my file?”

“Of course, Steve.” He rose from his seat and went to the file cabinet across the room. “You’re actually lucky I still have it handy. Would have had to wait for someone to find it otherwise. We haven’t digitized all of yours, obviously. It’s been in the archives,” he lifted out a hefty file folder and crossed back to the desk to sit. “There’s actually a lot more information in here than I thought there would be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, It looks like Dr. Erskine got his hands on a decent chunk of your medical records prior to your enlistment. Everything from cardiac issues to common colds. The man was nothing if not thorough. There’s a lot of his notes here too, actually. That part, someone did take the time to put into the computer system when we were actively researching and experimenting.”

The front of the folder was marked with his name and serial number, _CLASSIFIED_ in bold red letters below that. He unwound the closure and removed the contents, neatly organized into smaller folders. They seemed to be arranged into decade-long segments of his life. He pulled the folder with the earliest dates toward himself and laughed at the yellowed and faded birth certificate on the top of the stack of papers inside.

“Just be gentle, they’re sort of old, you know.”

Steve leafed through papers turned to onionskin, elegant handwriting and chicken scratch. He caressed signature lines with his mother’s neat script flowing across them fondly. Couldn’t help but smile at the pang of nostalgia at seeing James B. Barnes listed as an emergency contact later on.

He opened the SSR medical file tentatively. He remembered vividly all of the tests they subjected to him to. Each prick of a needle drawing blood or administering some inoculation. The careful manhandling of every inch of him. Several photographs slid out. His thinner self stood like he was posing for a sketch of the Vitruvian Man in his shorts—front and back, arms up and down, bent over to display the curvature of his spine. He remembered the absolute defiance he felt when the photos were taken, daring them with the seriousness in his eyes and the set of his jaw to say anything at all about how he looked or what afflicted him. He’d earned his place in the program and no one was going to take that away from him. More matching photographs taken after the procedure accompanied those, though his expression was no less defiant.

“Could I possibly have copies of all of this?”

“Of course, you have very right to it. They’re your records.”

“Really?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know… SHIELD, the SSR, I mean… Captain America—“

“These are not _Captain America’s_ medical histories. These are _Steve Rogers’._ As much as SHIELD seems to think they own you, they don’t.” The doctor had some hang-ups about releasing Erskine’s personal notes and those from his most recent treatments, but Steve was otherwise entitled to whatever he wanted.

“Could you possibly release them to someone at SHIELD? There’s someone there that I think might benefit from having a look. She’s been studying me, helping keep my medications on track in the process.”

“Who? I’ll give Agent Hill a call and make arrangements.”

“Agent Jemma Simmons.” He paused a beat, “Dr. Simmons. Leo Fitz has been collaborating, too.”

The doctor nodded, “I’ll make that call. In the mean time, do you have any questions? Concerns?” Steve didn’t. He bid the doctor goodbye and thanked him. He’d head down to Bennett’s room to visit while he waited for the copies of his records to be made.

“You big dummy. Ya got shot again, didn’t ya?”

Steve laughed. Bennett was sitting up in bed in just his pajama pants. It was rare to see him uncovered like that; he tended to hide his scaring even after he got comfortable around Steve and then Onheil. He had a large swath of white bandaging over his flank. “Nope, just stopped in to see everyone before I head home. Clean bill of health, so I’m Brooklyn bound!”

“That’s great.” He winced and pushed himself up further in bed. They seemed to have filled Steve’s side of the room with a new patient, though they weren’t there at the moment.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just another infection. It’s not too bad this time. Looks worse than it is. But once this clears up, I should be able to head back home too.”

“That’s exciting.”

“Yeah,” he slipped his hand into his pocket. Steve knew he was running his fingers over the worn out photograph of Squish.

“I’ve been thinking—“

“That’s dangerous.”

“You’re such an asshole, why am I friendly with you?”

“Because you were too annoying for anyone else.” Bennett laughed, “I’m sorry. Shoot. What were you thinking?”

“You should bring your family up to New York to visit. When you’re feeling up to it. Onheil and I can show you guys around. It’ll be fun.”

“Sounds like a plan. You can buy me a cup of that coffee you were always hemmin’ and hawin’ about.”

Steve laughed and leaned down to embrace the patient roommate who had become his friend when the man extended his arms and waved him over.

“Hey! Captain Rogers!” Steve straightened up when the nurse came into the room, a wash pan under her arm filled with towels and fresh bandaging. “Lookin’ good!”

“Feeling good. Just came to say goodbye to everyone. Headed home today.”

“That’s great!” She placed the pan down on Bennett’s table and moved into Steve’s embrace. “Need a turkey sandwich for the road?”

Steve laughed, “No, I’m good.” He gestured over his shoulder at Bennett with his thumb, “He could use a little fattening up, though.”

“Well, he can have a sandwich when I’m done with him. C’mon, Staff Sergeant. Time for a scrub down and clean bandages.”

“Steve, can you believe this complete injustice? It’s like I’m incapable of bathing myself.”

“Be my guest. First cry of agony, I get to do the _I Told You So_ dance.”

The odd hour they were riding the train meant that the car they got on was nearly empty. There were a few people scattered here and there that looked like business people heading home. Everyone seemed occupied with whatever was in the newspaper they were reading or the device they were listening to. Everyone looked equally exhausted. Steve didn’t envy them.

His stomach rumbled as the train lurched forward. He’d completely forgotten about eating that morning. Onheil laughed and leaned down to rummage in the shopping bag at her feet. “Looks like I get to save the day.” She plunked a container down in his lap filled with cut up fruit. “I absolutely forbid you to hog the strawberries.”

Of course, a strawberry was the first thing he popped into his mouth. He raised his brow as high as he could and waited for her to retaliate. She narrowed her eyes at him and picked up the hem of her tee shirt with one hand and grabbed the strawberries to deposit in the bowl she’d created with the other.

“You’re ridiculous.”

She spoke around a mouthful of fruit, “No more so than you, my dear.”

They sat in relative silence for a few moments. Onheil gazed out the window, watching the world speed by. Steve ran his fingers over the closure of the fat file folder sitting on the seat beside him, itching to open it and read through everything in the SSR section, itching to look through the older records and run his fingers over his mother’s handwriting again. He wished he could have had the originals.

He picked up an orange slice and popped it into his mouth, arranging the rind behind his lips. He tapped Onheil’s arm and grinned wide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! We're finally on our way back to New York! Woo Hoo! Let's all hope Steve makes it through the train ride okay.
> 
> Look at all that happy. Something bad must be coming. Is it the Big Bad? Who knows. But we all know my sadistic patterns by now.
> 
> And the next updates might be slightly slower because I'm revising things to include more Hawkeyes. Possibly some Peggy flashbacks or a dream because my copy of _Captain America/Peggy Carter Agent of SHIELD _came in the mail today and I have a lot of Peggy feelings.__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _As ever, thanks for reading and for the feedback! And for those who've commented/tumblr'ed and I haven't replied to it, I haven't forgotten you!_  
> _
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Additional side note: Yes, I am very aware of my constant scull/skull errors. I don't know why I keep making that mistake and I usually don't notice it until I go back to re-read a chapter as reference because spellcheck clearly won't catch it as it's not technically misspelled. It's been pointed out in the past and it's one of those things that's going to have to wait until I have some solid time to myself to dedicate to going through and editing. I'm planning on going through the entire fic and fixing errors at some point. It's just a matter of having the time and patience to focus on it :)__  
> 


	80. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An update from Asgard, a train ride, awkward questions, sudden revelations, and impromptu celebrations.

She moved on silent feet through the Council Chamber. The mulberry-colored wool of her gown was striking and bold against her flesh and the overwhelming gold and marble of the chamber. She sank to her knee in genuflection at Thor’s seat, her head bowed and a loose fist over her heart. “My King.”

Thor stood and held his hand out to her, “Sigyn, please.” She accepted his hand and allowed him to guide her to standing. Thor glanced around the room, Council members and foreign representatives collected for any number of general reasons, and offered Sigyn his arm. “I thought we might walk in my mother’s gardens.” She smiled and accepted his offering.

“This is lovely.” He brushed his fingers against the impossibly soft, white dappled deer hide capelet around her shoulders. It didn’t go unnoticed that it framed the gold ornament about her throat—made specifically to resemble Loki’s chest plate and leathers. “One of your own herd?”

“Mm. Yes. A favorite of mine.” She brushed an escaped curl back up and around the finger-length of sharpened antler point that ornamented her hair. “I was sad to see her go. But in death she offered life. She fed a young family during a lean season.” Sigyn’s smile turned bright. “Twin girls. Both aspiring to be nothing short of the next Lady Sif.” Her expression sobered. “That was some time ago.”

Thor guided her to sit in the shelter of an intricately spliced set of trees forming a nook to sit in. Mistletoe hung heavily in the canopy of the branches to provide shade. “You look well.” Since the Alignment she had looked drawn, grown thinner than she should. In the time since she confronted Hel she’d returned to something of her old self.

“I feel well. I would be lying if I said I have not felt better, but well enough. In truth, I did not think that news of Loki’s death would affect me so. I felt him alive. I knew it. But who was I to dispute the word of the brother whose arms he died in?” Thor looked down at his lap, shame burning in his cheeks. Sigyn reached out a hand to cover his. “You could not have known. I feared I was losing myself. But learning that Hel has been in contact with him beyond her court is a comfort, even if she will not share her knowledge.” She slipped her feet out of her slippers and pushed her toes through the thick grass.

“You still have feelings for him.”

“Of course. It is hard not to have strong feelings for the father of your children. Loki was my first great love. The only one. I know in my heart that he still feels for me as well.” She pulled the hem of her skirt up to her knees, basking in the late afternoon sun. “He likes to pretend he has dealt me some cruel punishment by leaving me and leaving our home and holdings to my use. He spared me the worst of his self destruction by leaving.”

“The fylke has never been more prosperous as it has under your care.” Thor laughed. “Perhaps he should have let you run things much sooner.” Sigyn smiled and rolled her eyes before growing serious again.

“I hear the things that people at court say of me. That I have clung pathetically to what once was. That I am a fool. A ghost in a cold bed.” Thor began to protest. “You’ve no need to deny it. I have my own little birds here at court. I am not completely isolated from the city. And I am not isolated in my home either. I do not sit and pine for what I once had. That cannot undo what has been done. I have mourned and I have made my peace even if I cannot forgive or forget.” Thor knew she no longer utilized the master rooms, leaving them to be used by her infrequent guests, and that the rooms her children slept, played, and learned in were sealed off. But he also knew she had a unique talent for politics honed as Loki’s wife and sharp intuition that was all her own. “But you did not call me to Chambers to admire my clothing or ask after my health.”

“No, I did not.” He cleared his throat, unable to figure quite how to broach the subject. “I have always thought of you as sister. And I have always trusted your opinion and judgment.” She smiled and nodded. She would like to still think of him as brother as well. “That gladdens my heart, truly.” He took a beat to better compose his thoughts. “I have a proposal, my Lady.”

“I’m flattered, Thor, but I will have to decline. You are simply not my type.” She patted his knee, “And my bed is not that cold that I must settle.”

Thor feigned offense. “Not that kind. I would propose you join my Council.” Sigyn began to protest. “I believe you would bring new balance to proceedings, a fresh perspective.”

“Your current advisors would not like it.”

“I don’t think that I care what they would like anymore. Their advice has been stagnant at best. I do not blame them for the current unrest in the realms—I know that my rush to find an answer to the question of Loki’s fate and whereabouts have been more than a contributing fact. But they’ve done little to help. They’ve served instead to inflame matters. I need someone who will not be afraid to contradict them.”

“And if I decline?”

“I have no other plans at the moment.”

“I will think on it.” She put her feet back into her slippers and stood. “You shall have your answer on the morrow.” She sank to one knee gracefully and held her fist over her heart before walking back toward the path they had walked on. The train of her gown gave her the look of a drop of wine rolling over the side of a goblet, slow and steady. She paused beneath the archway covered in ivy that led out. “Not that I am accepting, but I will offer this: You have been scouring the Realms for my husband’s allies when you should be seeking out his enemies.”

***

Steve had settled into that space in which a person knows they are on the cusp of giving in to a panic attack but is refusing to allow it to happen. He found distraction from his anxieties in the blazing summer sun beyond the window, the lack of enemy agents, and the closeness of Onheil’s physical presence.

Their car had emptied out. Around the same time they had run out of things to talk about. They’d covered everything that seemed important. Steve had explained what the folder he was carrying was. He’d told her about Bennett and his wife traveling to New York. Onheil had alluded to being happy to get back to work—both at the shop and at SHIELD. She wanted to get back out onto the shooting range. She wanted Barton to teach her more about sniping if he was up for it. She wanted to get into a room to spar with Steve if he was up for it. He was. He wanted to get back into shape, back into form.

“Can I ask you something?” He ran his tongue over his bottom lip; still stinging with the acid of the citrus he’d eaten.

“Hm?” She was flicking her thumb left and right across the screen of her phone, controlling the direction an animated character turned as he ran on an endless path to collect coins while avoiding gaps, bumps, and flame throwers.

“I guess it’s a little out of left field. But I was wondering…” He trailed off, getting increasingly tongue-tied. She raised her eyebrows and glanced over at him, careful to keep one eye on her game as if she knew he’d lose his resolve if she turned her full gaze on him.

“You were wondering what?”

“In the shower last night… when you…” He searched for the right words, not knowing quite how to broach the subject. “When you played with my ass.” Briefly. Frustratingly. “Did—did you want to… Were you going to…” He frowned at himself for his foolishness. They were consenting adults in what he was certain was a committed relationship. This shouldn’t be difficult to talk about. But _holy moley_ had that felt good and he wanted her to do it again and—

The animated runner slammed into a tree. “Finger you?” Her eyes swept from the screen to look at him in her peripheral vision. He nodded. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as if the subject was either tiresome or something she had to steel herself for. She swiveled her head toward him and leaned in close. “Yes,” she whispered.

Warmth spread through Steve’s chest. “Why didn’t you?” She sucked in her bottom lip and crossed her legs. The cords of muscle in her thighs visibly tensed under the fabric of her pants.

She straightened back up in her seat and tapped the button to start a new game. “Because I had not asked you before hand if you would be interested in it or would allow me to. Because it may have been rather unpleasant considering lack of lubrication. I’m not in the general practice of sticking my…” She ran her tongue over her lips, “my thumbs up other people’s asses indiscriminately.”

Steve ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I would have let you.” He barked out a laugh, nervous tension running out of him with the sound, relieved and perplexed at how casual she was about it.

Onheil raised a brow and swiped her finger upward to make the runner jump over a hurdle. “Have you had someone do that before?” She paused the game. “Have you done it?”

“No. But I can’t say I haven’t wondered what it was all about.”

Onheil drew in a breath and held it, the corners of her mouth turning up discreetly. “Good to know.”

Steve exhaled heavily and relaxed in his seat. He reached out to twine the fingers of Onheil’s free hand with his. Just another hour.

***

Drew was waiting at the train station. She rose up on her toes and waved enthusiastically when she spotted them. She pulled Loki into a tight embrace. “I missed you!”

“We talked all the time.”

Drew’s arms tightened affectionately for a moment before she let go and took Loki’s bag off her shoulder. She smiled amiably at Steve and asked him how the ride home was. “It wasn’t bad.” He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it over, and slipped his sunglasses down from the top of his head to his nose. “Just really long.”

They made their way through the station and out onto the crowded city street. Loki breathed a sigh of relief. Home. Or at least something close to it.

Drew pointed down the block to where her car was parked. “Shit! No, nonono!” She bolted across the street, trying to head off the officer getting dangerously near to her vehicle with his ticket book. Loki and Steve jogged after her. “Please, no! I’m moving it now!” Drew snatched the ticket out of her windshield wiper. “Dammit! The receipt is on the dash, you asshole! Get your eyes checked!” The officer continued down the block, ignoring her protests. “Fuck. Because I totally had sixty five dollars to throw away.”

Steve frowned and started to turn toward the direction the officer left in before stopping. “I’ll pay it.”

“What?”

“I’ll pay it. You were waiting for us. The train was delayed. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t really change the fact that it’s on my record, Captain.”

Loki took the ticket from Drew’s grip. “What sixty five dollars?” She handed back the blank slip. The officer’s ticket book would be blank as well when he checked it later on.

“Wha—I—“ She stared down at the ticket, bewildered.

“I guess you distracted him.”

Drew blew out a relieved breath and tensed again when her SHIELD phone sounded shrilly from her pocket. “I’ve got another case. I… I was going to drive you guys home, but I really need to get back to the office.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Carter. We can head back that way with you. We should probably check in with Fury anyway.”

Loki rolled her eyes and dragged her feet. Literally. A gaggle of young agents covered their mouths and giggled like school children as they slipped past she and Steve in the corridor. “No.” Steve tugged her hand again and insisted that she should come with him to the director’s office. “I don’t want to.” She frowned and wiggled her fingers. She leaned back.

She knew exactly how this was going to end.

“ _Oof!_ ” Steve winced as he fell hard on his ass.

Loki laughed, imagining how absurd the two of them must look on the floor like that. She didn’t mind the jolt that went up her spine when she hit the floor. At least until she noticed the look of sheer panic on Steve’s face.

“Are you twenty-something or two? Christ, Onheil. We’re at work.”

She scrambled to her feet and went to help him up. “Steve, are you okay? I’m sorry. Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to—“

He swatted her hands away and got carefully to his feet. “It’s fine. Stop.” He ran his hands down the front of his shirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles. “I’ll be with Fury. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

Loki ventured down into the bowels of the building toward the morgue. Sounds of heavy blades coming together led her to the suite Drew was working in. There was the loud clatter of metal on metal as she set down the tool she was using to remove digits from the latest case. She chattered while she zipped up the bag and pushed the gurney back into the refrigerator. Loki did her best to ignore the pungent aroma that escaped when the door was opened. “One good thing about mummies, they don’t really smell that bad.” She gathered specimen jars into her arms and placed them back down on the desk outside to pull off her plastic smock and shoe covers and mask. Loki gingerly held open a plastic bag marked with _BIOHAZARD_ in big bold letters for Drew to drop the jars inside. “You’ve got clean hands. You’re in charge of the doors and elevator.” She switched out her gloves for new ones and gestured ahead.

Drew was all business in the morgue, but in the elevator she collapsed in onto herself. “I really was looking forward to having the afternoon off.” She straightened up, the plastic jars clacking together inside the bag as she moved. “I thought you were going to see Fury.”

“I didn’t want to.” Loki explained what had happened.

Drew rolled her eyes, “You’re a giant child, do you know that?” They went to her wet lab where Loki found herself put to work. Drew bobbed her head to the music playing in the lab while the two of them filled each specimen jar with chemicals to rejuvenate the skin for her to attempt to lift prints.

“You know, every time I visit your lab, you’re working on mummified fingers. Is that all they ever have you do?”

Drew pushed the door to the fume hood closed and locked it. She squinted at something unseen while she stripped off her gloves and washed her hands. “You know, you’re right.” She motioned for Loki to follow her into her office where she pulled up a database of the cases she’d worked on.

“Is there something wrong?”

“You’re a fucking genius.” Drew grabbed Loki’s face and planted a wet kiss on her forehead while she squirmed.

“What did I do?” Drew swiveled her computer screen around to show Loki the database. The notations and numbers and color-coded blocks meant nothing to her. “Am I supposed to see some connection here?”

“No, you’re not. They’re completely unrelated cases.”

“Then how am I a genius?”

“Because you just tied them all together. They’re all mummies.” She scanned through the categories. “And none of them really should have been in that condition considering the environment they were found in. Something is up.”

“I still don’t see it.”

Drew was tapping at keys and dragging cases into position on a new spreadsheet. She dropped it into an email and pounded the send button while she poked at numbers on the phone with the other hand. “Tess!”

“Hey, Doctor Cutie.”

“Not now. Did you get my email?”

“I’m not at my desk right now, hold on.” There was a long pause, some shuffling of papers. “Yes, I did. What’s up? What are all of these?”

“Can you tell me if you have anything similar?” Tesla wasn’t sure of what she meant. “Like, skeletonized remains in odd environments. Someplace where there wouldn’t be animal activity or…or… or that they weren’t missing long enough to have been that far into decomp.”

“Give me a minute.” Loki listened as Tesla’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “Yeah, like three cases? Two of them were confirmed enemy operatives. Possible HYDRA ties. One we haven’t identified yet. I’m guessing it’s an agent, maybe foreign, definitely deep cover if they are. There’s been nothing on facial recognition, dental, or DNA. There was no flesh so it wouldn’t have ever come near your daily load.”

“Do we still have the remains by any chance?” Drew’s feet were tapping a wild rhythm on the tile floor.

“Yeah, the unidentified ones at least.”

Drew’s fist pumped into the air in silent celebration. She asked whom she needed to talk to in order to get her hands on them. She thought she could lift prints from the surface of the bones if they hadn’t been too manhandled by anthropology. They could use the results to identify who had moved them at the very least. “I think these are all connected. My cases are all identified. Most of them have been released.”

“You think the same person killed all those agents?”

“Maybe. Maybe not the same person. Maybe the same organization. I don’t know. It’s weird and it’s too obvious.”

“Why the sudden revelation?”

“Ferguson made a comment. Things clicked. Possibilities realized. I can’t unsee it now.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Hey, O!”

What felt like hours and several phone calls to Hill and the anthropology department later, Drew finally had what she wanted. The bones would be delivered to her office Monday morning. Pathologists would be combing over the few cases they had left to see if there was anything they could have possibly missed.

She pushed Loki’s feet off of the edge of her desk. “We’re going back to my place to celebrate.”

“What is there to celebrate? You haven’t achieved anything yet.”

“Yes we damned well have. You can even bring Steve.” She couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off of her face.

***

Onheil hovered near the door of his office. Steve had finished writing his incident and mission reports. Fury had told him it wasn’t necessary. Steve had insisted. It felt like he was tying up the last loose ends. Closing that chapter of the book.

She brushed the toe of her boot back and forth across the floor and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “I’m sorry.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned against the doorframe. “Are you upset with me?”

He hit send and shut down his computer. “No, I’m not.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“No, I just got nervous. My back…”

“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.” He’d over reacted; she didn’t need to be sorry.

“Are you ready to head home?” She shook her head. Dr. Carter had invited them to spend the evening at her apartment. He considered it for a moment. He’d really just been looking forward to ordering something and spending the rest of the day curled up on the couch with Onheil. Maybe watch a few movies. Go to bed. Snuggle a little. Sleep in his own bed. Under his own covers. In his favorite pair of shorts. “You go. Have fun. I think you more than deserve it. I’m gonna head across the river. Get settled in.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” He nodded. Onheil crossed the room to his desk and scrutinized him for a moment before leaning down to plant a kiss against his cheek. “Call if you need me?” One side of his mouth twitched up in a smile and he watched her walk away.

Steve took a cab from SHIELD to his apartment building in Brooklyn. He was sure it would never fail to amaze him at how much cab faire was. He waved as the driver shouted out the window to him, “Welcome back, Cap!”

“Aww, he took our line.”

Steve turned to find Romanov and Barton sitting on the front steps of his building. They were wearing twin grins, a cardboard box that had a picture of lettuce with a produce company’s name on it on the ground in front of them. It was packed with foil take-out containers, a box from a bakery he knew was in Clint’s neighborhood, and what he was fairly sure were presents judging by the brightly colored paper and obnoxiously large bow at the top.

“You two are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Well, we could have done this sooner. You know, if _someone_ had bothered to pick up their phone.”

Steve’s cheeks burned with an embarrassed blush as he led the two up the stairs to his apartment. It felt odd, coming home. He’d been away for so long. He’d believed for so long that he would be coming in through the service entrance in the back, wheeling himself up the ramp and maneuvering into the elevator meant for deliveries and moving furniture. He’d had dreams of getting to his door and then not being able to get inside because the frame was too narrow. He’d rehearsed in his head the speech he was going to make to Fury and Hill about wanting to still remain useful and that he would do his best to continue everything short of going out into the field if they would allow him. He’d rehearsed in his head what he was going to say to Onheil about how she didn’t have to feel obligated to stay with him, that he would understand if she wanted to break things off, to find someone less complicated to be with.

But here he was turning his key in his door and walking through it.

And something felt seriously wrong.

“Someone’s been in here.” It was really the most insignificant of things. Something anyone else might have overlooked. He distinctly remembered having left a mug on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was the blue one with the chip in the side. It was the first thing he’d bought for himself when he moved from the tiny two-room apartment that SHIELD had found for him when he first came back and into the apartment he’d chosen for himself.  He’d left it out. He knew he had. He put a hand out to stop Clint and Natasha from following him.

He wished he had his shield.

Maria had insisted on allowing them to strip off the camo paint job that they’d covered it in for the mission.

“Steve.” He put up a hand to silence Natasha. He could clearly see the mug hanging on its peg with the others under the cabinet in the kitchen. He moved into the hall toward his bedroom. “Steve!”

“What?”

“I was in here while you were away.” He turned fully around as Clint and Natasha stepped into the living room and Clint placed the box down on the coffee table. He felt violated. “After they confirmed that there was a leak somewhere and that you were specifically targeted, they wanted to make sure no one was watching or listening. I came in to comb for bugs.” She put her hands up in surrender. “I may have cleaned up a little while I was here. Cleaned out the fridge. Emptied the garbage. Ran the dishwasher.” Steve’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just… I wanted you to come home to a clean house and no stress and we didn’t know if you were going to…”

Natasha gasped when Steve wrapped her up in his arms. “Thank you.”

“Hey. I helped. I totally vacuumed.” Steve put an arm out to pull Clint into his embrace as well. “Oh no. None of that mushy crap for me.”

“Were there any?” He held Natasha by her shoulders at an arm’s length.

“Aside from SHIELD’s? No.” Steve could feel the horror register on his face. “I played dumb and got rid of everything. The place is clean, Steve, I swear on Hawk’s life.”

“Hey!”

It wasn’t Natasha’s fault. He let the anger drain from his shoulders. “What do you guys want to drink?” He moved into the kitchen. “I don’t know if it will go with whatever you brought, but I should have some Brooklyn Brown in the fridge.” He turned and raised a brow in Clint’s direction. “Unless you cleaned me out there too.”

Dinner was beer and lasagna and pasta and salad with pinwheels of ham and salami and cheese. Dinner was Steve and Clint and Natasha sitting around the small table in the kitchen firmly back into the weird but familiar world he’d woken up in with people he’d grown to love.

Steve felt full and content. He was warmed through with the meal and the chatter from Clint and Natasha about what had gone on at SHIELD and over at Stark Tower while he was away.

He shamelessly licked the cream off the end of the cannoli and crunched happily on the chocolate chips mixed in. “So, what exactly is Tony doing? Onheil just said that she’d been helping him on a project. Something about body armor?”

“After you were hurt, forensics pulled samples from a bunch of manufactures, even asked for the vests the tac team had worn to compare yours to. Stark and Ferguson had already been working on something and when forensics put out its report on their findings, he went into over drive.”

“What were their findings?”

“Your equipment was either defective or tampered with.” He put his cannoli down, appetite gone. “None of the others had the same defects. One even had visibly taken a shot and was barely scuffed.”

“We’re going to find them Steve. We’re going to take them out.” He nodded.

“How’re your ears?”

Clint shrugged and pushed his hair, shaggier looking than Steve remembered, away from his ears and leaned close. A tiny, transparent wire ran from inside his ear to the thin, curved battery resting behind it. “Been better. Still not really thrilled.”

“No one expects you to be thrilled about being deaf, Clint.”

Natasha nudged him and smiled sympathetically. “At least you’re leaving your apartment and showering again.”

Clint’s cheeks pinkened almost imperceptibly and he took a long sip of his beer. Steve got up to get him another from the fridge, “I’ve been there.” He popped the top off of the bottle and set it down in front of Barton before sitting back down. They were quiet while they finished dessert. “Onheil mentioned you were learning sign language?”

“Yeah.” Natasha loaded their utensils into the dishwasher and retreated to the living room. “I can read lips pretty well. Part of the job when you spend most of your time watching people through one scope or another. But without these things,” he tapped the side of his head to indicate the hearing aids, “I’m just not sure I’m comfortable, you know? I’m not _completely_ deaf, but it’s enough.”

“You can practice your signing on me if you want.” Clint gave him a quizzical look. “I know a little.”

“You do? What for?” Clint followed Steve out to the living room where Natasha was very purposefully setting brightly wrapped packages out on the coffee table. He wondered out loud if Steve and the Commandos used it to communicate over distance on ops during the war.

“Yeah, actually. A little bit. Signing and bird calls, usually.” Steve grinned. “I talked about it in that interview I did. Felt good to tell those stories.” He plunked down on the couch between the two agents. Friends. “But I knew it from before the war. Before the serum—“

“Before the Easy Bake Beefcake Machine.” Clint laughed into the mouth of his beer bottle at his own joke. Steve had learned that the Hawk’s sense of humor, when at least slightly tipsy, ranged wildly from very dark to very silly.

“Before that, I was sort of deaf, too. Nothing near what you’re going through, but signing made things a little easier. Especially when I was sick and my ears were clogged up. Drove people crazy when Bucky and I signed in mixed company.”

“Barnes knew it too?”

“Yeah. Learned it for me. Knew about as much as I did. He was smart. Picked things up really quickly if he thought it would be useful. We taught the Howlers what we knew and sort of came up with some of our own signs as a group for more mission-specific things.”

“That’s… that’s actually really cool.” He frowned down at the bottle in his hands. “Why don’t you ever talk about this stuff?”

“No one really asks me.”

Natasha clinked her bottle against Clint’s. “New rule: You want to talk about something, say so.”

“That sounds like a pretty good rule.”

“Now presents. Mine first.” Steve put his hand on the package nearest Natasha, she nodded. He peeled the paper off of it carefully, old habits of saving things to re-wrap or draw on dying hard.

“Tasha, this is way too much.” He ran his fingers over the tubes of _M. Graham_ watercolors—blue, green, yellow, red, and brown—all highly pigmented and begging to be brushed across a sheet of paper from the pack beneath them with one of the squirrel hair brushes resting beside them.

“No it’s not. It’s just enough. You’ll need supplies for school, right? And I fully expect a Steve Rogers original to hang in my house and brag about to all the company I never have.” She arranged her features into something seductive and placed her hand delicately along the side of her face. “You can paint me like one of your French girls.”

Steve made a face of mock horror, “Who told you about the French girls?” He was surprised and delighted by the ease he felt with Natasha. It was like the woman who’d befriended him, even through his own reluctance, before Onheil had come into his life, had suddenly come back.

Before the breakdown of their friendship and the tension between them at work.

Onheil seemed to be the turning point for a lot of things.

Good and… not as good.

“Mine next. C’mon, c’mon.” Clint pushed a heavy, rectangular bundle toward him. He could only imagine they were books. He unwrapped the first one.

“ _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance_?”

“Because, you know, you ride a motorcycle. And you seem to need more zen in your life.”

“That’s not what that book is about, Barton.”

“I have no idea what that damned book is about, _Natashka._ I saw the opportunity for a really dumb joke and seized it.” He took the first book out of Steve’s hands and placed the second one into it. “This is the actual, intentional present.” Steve unwrapped it and stared down at the heavy tome with its relatively plain cover. _A Short History of Nearly Everything._ “It sounds painfully boring, but it’s really interesting. You mentioned your catching-up list when you were at my place. Thought this would be good. Science stuff, history stuff. Pretty funny too.”

Steve grinned, “Thanks.” Someone was listening.

Coffee table cleared to use as a footrest, the trio settled in for an evening of movie watching. The last thing Steve remembered was Judy Garland trying to find her beau at the Army office knowing only his first name. _Joe. Joe._

***

It was truly priceless.

It needed to be documented.

Natasha eased off of the couch, careful not to let Steve’s arm drop down from where it rested along the back.

Clint was practically nestled against him on the other side, Steve’s arm having long since fallen giving the look of holding him close. Feet propped up on the table and crossed casually at the ankle, Steve’s head was tipped back, his mouth open just slightly in his sleep. His chest rose and fell steadily along with Clint’s head.

***

Maria’s personal phone buzzed against her desk, Natasha’s name lighting up on the screen. She swiped at icons to download the photo she’d received.

Rogers and Barton were out cold together on what she was fairly sure was Steve’s couch. Clint had a large gift bow stuck to the top of his head.

It started with a giggle and turned into sobbing.

“Agent Hill?” A young blonde woman poked her head into the office, her face a mask of concern.

“Oh gosh, yes, Sharon?”

“Are you alright?”

Maria wiped her eyes with the end of her sleeve. “Yes, I am. Just haven’t had a laugh that good in a very long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve falls asleep while they're watching _The Clock_ a film from 1945. It's lovely, if you have the opportunity, you should give it a watch! The books he gets from Clint are by Robert M. Pirsig and Bill Bryson, respectively. I picked up the latter because, well, Chris Evans recommended it. It's actually pretty good, even if it is a little difficult to really get into at the start.
> 
> A lot but not a lot happened? As ever, thank you for reading and for the feedback. Hope you enjoyed it.


	81. Walk Out/Walk In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions to a new character and some mindless filler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 04JAN2015: Just correcting a non-English dialogue issue! Just reminding everyone again that if you see a problem with any language other than English being used, please feel free to let me know or give a correction! I'm relying on Google to translate things and sometimes depending on what it spits out at me, it's me going through a dictionary attempting to piece something together manually. My talents are very much not in translation, as I seem determined to prove repeatedly. Many thanks to persimonne for the heads up!

Loki liked Tesla.

A lot.

His wit was biting and quick. He was easily side tracked or distracted. He was prone to explaining things as if they should be rather obvious to everyone else in the room and ad nauseam.

It was like Fandral and Volstagg rolled into one personality and somehow it actually worked.

It was a bit like Fitz.

The bottle of wine emptied quickly among the three of them. Another got uncorked and poured. No one planned on leaving or had any regard for what their sober selves would feel like in the morning. The Midgardians, at least.

“You’re really not going to ask?” Tesla laughed at some joke he had not shared with the group. He tugged at the tie in his hair and let the soft curls bounce free around his face. It took away from the intensity of his gaze, amber-toned eyes like Heimdall’s an unsettling and beautiful feature.

Come to think of it, perhaps Heimdall had visited Midgard. Had a lovechild with someone in dear Leopold’s bloodline. It was the only way to explain Tesla.

“Ask what?”

“I saw you looking at my SHIELD ID card. I know you’re wondering.”

Loki rolled her eyes. “I’m really not. I actually thought the nom de guerre you’ve chosen is quite creative.”

“ _Nom de guerre_? I like it. I think I’m going to change the title of my blog.”

“You have a blog?” Tesla nodded. He posted his more recreational artwork online. Sold some. Made announcements about gallery shows he was a part of or would be attending. Posted commentary on other art. Posted articles about his field. “Have you met my Captain darling?” Drew wrinkled her nose and refilled her glass. “I think the two of you would get along quite swimmingly.”

“You’re with Captain Rogers, right?” Loki nodded. “What’s that like?”

“Exhausting.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

She thought for a moment. “Both.”

The second bottle emptied. Tesla and Loki compared preferences on paintbrushes and music and just how lacy a pair of panties ought to be.

Drew seemed to grow quieter as the evening wore on. Out of things to talk about and with the Midgardian lovers less able to form speech without giggling or getting tongue tied, they turned toward the ever-present safety net of streaming movies.

The credits rolled.

“You missed the service, you know.”

“What?”

“The funeral service. For Sixsmith. I called you.”

The agents who had been killed on the mission had all been laid to rest while Loki and Steve were in Washington. The other two had been sent off to whatever states their families lived in. Sixsmith’s husband lived in Chestnut Ridge, just a short drive outside the city. The services had been held there. Loki had pretended she’d never gotten the call.

The guilt was too overwhelming, no matter how loudly and often Steve or Hill or Coulson or Barton insisted that it had not been her fault. She could not face the woman’s grieving family.

“It was really lovely. Much more celebration than anything else. The makeup people did a good job fixing up her forehead.”

Loki opened and closed her mouth, unable to find words.

Tesla’s arm tightened around the scientist. “Drewbilee. Now’s not the time.”

“Why not? When’s the time? It’s as good as any other.”

Loki rose from her seat and excused herself. She could feel the warmth building in her face, the salt beginning to sting her eyes. She closed the bathroom door in as controlled a manner as she possibly could and listened to the muffled sounds of Tesla and Drew arguing, all the booze-softened qualities of their speech suddenly gone, over the sound of her own retching.

She splashed her face with cold water and fought the urge to be sick again.

Drew was scrunched down in Tesla’s arms when she walked back into the living room. “I should go.”

“O, don’t leave.”

“I need to. I… I promised Steve I would sleep at his place tonight.” An easy lie. A believable one. No Silvertongue required. “I need to get back to Brooklyn. It’s already late.”

“Let me walk you to the subway.”

“You’re too drunk.” Loki shook her head. “I’m going to call a cab. I’ll be fine.”

“Wait here, then.” Drew snuffled against Tesla’s chest. “We’ve all had a little too much, I think. You shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“I will be fine. The fresh air will help.” She gathered her phone from the couch and her bag from the hall. “I need to leave.”

Out on the street, the city was no less quiet for the late hour. Cars honked. Doors slammed. Lights flashed.

Loki hated Manhattan.

She backed into the shadows of a doorway leading to an apartment above a restaurant. She pressed her hands to the peeling paint behind her and let go and disappeared.

She let out the breath she’d been holding when she found herself standing in the middle of her living room.

The air was stagnant and overheated. The smell of overripe and rotten fruit wafted from the kitchen counter. A thin layer of dust had settled over things, motes floated in the air.

She let herself fold down onto the floor.

_Hey! We’re leaving Cap’s. Was hoping 2 c u. Staying in Mnhtn?_

It was nearly two in the morning when the text message came through. She felt boneless and wrecked.

Lying was even easier when you didn’t have to look the other party in the face.

She focused on the texture of the carpet against her cheek. She lifted a hand and let energy flow around the room. Dust cleared. Old food vanished. Dishes arranged themselves in a sink full of water.

Loki dragged herself up off the floor and onto the couch. She pulled the fur throw down over herself and ignored the stifling heat.

She woke to the sound of her buzzer. “Onheil? You home?”

She pressed the button on her side of the intercom. “Yes.” Her voice came out sounding rough and dry.

“You okay? I called, but you didn’t answer.”

“I’m fine.”

“I came by to see if you wanted to have breakfast.”

“No.”

“Lovebug, you don’t sound okay. Can I come up?”

“No.”

There was a long pause. “Are you hung over?”

The Silvertongue was getting plenty of exercise, “Yes. I feel awful. I just want to go back to bed.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Steve. _Please,_ just go.” She found herself on the razor edge of hysterics, her hand shaking as she pressed down the intercom button.

“Okay.” She waited. Nothing more. Loki imagined Steve’s features warring between furious and concerned. She couldn’t deal with the inevitable questions about what had gone on last night and why she was so upset. She could not handle him telling her again that it was not her fault. She could not handle his pity.

She crossed to the kitchen to gulp down water from the tap. Leaning against the counter, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes fell on the collection of things tacked onto the front of her fridge. Pictures drawn by Owen, take out menus, Steve’s letter from so long ago.

And a business card stapled to a memo mandating her attendance of regular sessions.

_Dr. S. Cooper –- Cooper, Huang & McMurphy –- Specialists in Psychiatry, Counseling, & Family Therapy_

***

Rogers had reported back to SHIELD. Dr. Cooper had spent most of his afternoon pouring over the incident and mission reports he’d submitted, searching for signs that he had regressed or needed attention in some way.

Ferguson had come back as well. She’d declined to report to Director Fury or Agent Coulson as her supervising officer. She hadn’t submitted a mission report. All he had to go on was what Rogers had related in their brief phone sessions and what he’d been able to learn from Barton about the situation at large when he and Romanov had turned up at the office completely by surprise.

Barton was doing… surprisingly well. Romanov was supportive and realistic and was keeping him away from destructive patterns.

Rogers was on the fence. He could continue to make positive progress or he could completely break down. He seemed to be actively deciding to push forward in spite, or perhaps because of, his doubts about his will to continue on as Captain America in light of all that had happened.

Ferguson worried him. She was defiant. Argumentative. Fucking stubborn as hell. Secretive and vague. Clearly had a less than stellar personal history. All the reasons she continuously defied orders and didn’t attend sessions were largely part of the reason that he and Fury had thought them necessary if she was going to be an asset to the agency.

Cooper was more than concerned.

Three people had died under her command. Her lover had been nearly permanently injured. One of her closest friends _had_ been permanently injured. She’d been attacked under odd circumstances.

The mission she had planned had essentially failed in many ways.

But somehow she was apparently perfectly together and playing the part of indulgent, concerned girlfriend.

“Doctor? You have a walk-in.” The receptionist poked his head in the door to his office and spoke in hushed tones. “I think this one is important.”

Ferguson was standing in the middle of the room looking like absolute hell. “Clear my schedule.”

***

Loki sat down on the comfortable couch across from the shrink. She wondered if this was where Steve sat or if he commandeered the over-stuffed chair that Cooper settled down into with his notebook.

“I was hoping you’d come and see me.”

“I am surprised that I was not forced to see you when I walked into SHIELD yesterday.”

“How are you doing?”

Loki pretended that his face was beginning to melt as she stared at him. “How do you think I am doing?”

“By all other accounts you seemed to be faring pretty well. I’ve read most of the mission reports that have come in. Heard things through the grapevine that weren’t in the reports.”

“Like what?” She slipped her shaking hands between her thighs and the cushions.

“Can’t talk about that, can I? That would be breaking confidentiality. You’ll just have to talk yourself.”

Loki rolled her eyes. Did he really think he was clever?

“There are three people dead. There is a man who has nearly lost one of his senses. There is another who, I believe, only by the grace of whatever god he believes in is once again walking.” She cursed herself when her chin began to quiver. “I used the person I love most in this world as _bait_. I sent three young people home in boxes. I caused my dearest friend to be hurt— _I_ hurt him. I said such cruel things to him.”

Words were tumbling from her lips faster than she could stop them.

Her anger. Desire. Need. Sorrow. Frustration. Confusion.

“I couldn’t even kill him.” She’d been thinking quite a bit on the man with the curious metal appendage. “I was too _fascinated_ by him.” Cooper raised a brow. “And you can tell Fury that. Fuck it. I don’t give a shit anymore. Tell him everything. I didn’t kill him because I admired his style. I wanted to keep fighting. I wanted to hold onto that feeling. I felt alive. I wanted to draw it out for as long as possible. Then he was gone.” She clenched her jaw so tightly she wondered how her teeth did not crack. She kept to herself that she was convinced over the course of her sleepless nights that he’d been the one to shoot Steve after she’d ran from him. “And I saw them. Their blood was on me.” Cooper started to protest. “I mean literally. I fell into the blood and it got on me.” She fought the urge to swipe at her face. “I haven’t felt clean since then.” She laughed, the sound bitter on her tongue. “Out, out damned spot!”

“Onheil—“

“Don’t tell me it’s not my fault!” Spittle flew into the open air. “Everyone keeps telling me how they chose to take the mission! How they knew what they were getting themselves into in taking on the job and in being agents! They still expected to go home to their families! They were not rushing toward Valhalla!” Her chest rose and fell rapidly. “Steve and Clint did not anticipate being… being hurt! Being maimed! I planned everything. I was so sure of myself. I was so sure I was right! I was so sure that it would be the thing that made them all see that I am not here to _use_ them or to… to… I thought that this would prove my value! What is that value? Nothing! Because in death there is nothing! Nothing but anguish. No green fields! No feasting! Just a void. Maybe I belong there, too.”

She imagined she looked quite unhinged judging by the way Cooper’s face had blanched.

“Please sit.” She lowered herself back down onto the couch. “What ever _that_ is, please put it away.” She glanced down at her hands and the spiked of green and gold licking erratically up her forearms. The air felt heavy. “You’ve got quite a flair for the dramatic.” She took a breath and willed the energy to dissipate. She apologized in a whisper. “I’m not going to tell you that none of it is your fault.” She squinted at him. “Because it absolutely isn’t true. You handpicked that team. You directed them. You were the reason they were all there. Had you not taken over that mission it may have been passed to other operatives who would follow the extensive plan that Captain Rogers laid out. It might have gone to a team that was more familiar with the area, more familiar with that particular enemy cell. Rogers might have directed the mission himself either remotely from SHIELD or on the ground. It may have ended entirely differently had it not been for you.”

Her mouth dropped open in surprise.

“In some other reality… Barton doesn’t need hearing aids. He’s not taking sign language classes. He didn’t spend a week on his couch in the dark surviving on coffee and protein bars. Rogers isn’t coming home from a month of surgery and rehabilitation. He’s not teetering on the edge of stability and mania. Those three agents are alive and joking around while they train in the gym or on the shooting range.”

“In some other reality, everything is different. But maybe in that reality a whole lot more people died. Maybe women and children. Maybe the elderly. The people living in that village. Maybe more agents. Maybe more soldiers.”

“People got hurt. People died. But people _lived_ , Onheil. What about May and Ward and Romanov? From what I understand if you hadn’t gotten above ground when you did… if you hadn’t used your abilities the way you did—they’d be dead or captured. You can’t look at this as a failure. The mission was successful, even with the losses that were sustained. If you take yourself out of the equation, I don’t think that would have been possible. Not with the conditions that you all faced. You were ambushed. Someone leaked intel. Someone on the other side found out what was going to happen. _That_ is not your fault. _That_ is why people are telling you that you aren’t to blame, because the sum of the circumstances were out of your control.”

Why was it so much easier to lead—or help lead, at the very least—hundreds of warriors into battle or to fight against some warring people in some other realm? Why was it easier to lead men to the slaughter then?

Because she didn’t give a shit about any of them.

These people, she’d purposefully gotten to know. She’s picked them specifically because she liked them and felt they had strategic value.

They weren’t a blur of faces contorted with battle cries and masses of knotted muscled charging forward against the enemy horde.

They were individuals with skills and personalities.

“They didn’t die or get hurt for nothing, Onheil. You denying the value of the mission as a whole because it didn’t go according to the perfect plan that you had in your head dishonors everything that they stood for, everything they believed as agents of SHIELD.”

She told him about Stark. How she hated that he was designing the armor. That he would get credit for it.

He told her that it was understandable if she’d really helped him design and test it. The important thing was that an injury like Steve’s might not happen again. She knew it. She didn’t care.

She told him about Pepper’s kindness and how she didn’t feel she deserved it.

She told him about wanting to leave Washington. To come back to Brooklyn. To let Steve take care of himself. That she was tired of taking care of him. Tired of being tender and kind and patient.

He told her that it wasn’t odd or selfish or cruel. It was human.

“I have this recurring nightmare. The Hawk shoots me. The Captain congratulates him while I bleed out.”

“The Hawk and the Captain?”

“Yes.”

“Not Clint and Steve?”

“No.”

Later, she stood to leave. “I want you to come see me again in a few days. But for now, go home. Shower. Eat something. Get some decent sleep.”

She slipped the prescription for sleeping medication that she would fill but not take into her pocket. “I have no intention of coming back here.”

Cooper barked out a laugh. “Well, at least you’re honest. I can have Fury force you, you know.”

“I’d like to see either of you attempt that.”

“Just promise me that you’ll come in or call if you feel… not right? Any kind of not right. Sad, angry, confused—“

“Yes, fine. May I go?”

“You’re worse than Barton.”

***

Cooper sat down heavily behind his desk. “Did you guys get that?”

“Do you think she’s fit to continue?”

“If you mean, do I think she’s going to have a breakdown—hurt herself, someone else? No.” He sighed and clicked around the screen to save an upload the recording of the session from the camera hidden in the bookshelf. “I think she just needed to talk herself completely out.”

“Why did you tell her it was her fault?”

“Because she needed to hear it.” Coulson and Fury made twin sounds of disbelief. “She runs at optimum when she has some sort of anger to fuel herself, some point of contradiction. Shut that down and you shut her down. She did come around, if you failed to notice that.” He shrugged and dropped the video file into Ferguson’s encrypted folder. “I think she was just tired of having people take pity on her.”

“She got violent on the Bus, hurt Barton.”

“Yes, I’m aware. And wouldn’t you have some sort of extreme reaction if you had all of that happen and then get information that your significant other had been grievously injured? Like I said, she’s dramatic. Brings Agent May to mind, actually. She uses her anger and frustration and remorse to fuel herself. She keeps it on the surface, accesses it, channels it. Ferguson does the same. Ever noticed that her abilities are… volatile, stronger even, when she’s agitated? Dr. Simmons may have linked them to electrical impulses and nervous response, but that’s certainly not all it is. I am at least minimally concerned about her reasons for not eliminating the person who attacked her. But she is still fresh to the agency, to seeing action on a mission, in spite of what happened in Istanbul. It doesn’t surprise me. Plenty of your people have come through here expressing similar sentiments.”

“Well, Agent Coulson, you’re her SO. What do you think?”

Phil put his hands on his hips. Cooper could tell they were standing in Fury’s office in front of the big monitor on the wall. “I say we give her a chance. Watch her. Step in if things go bad. But honestly? Other than Rogers mentioning that she wasn’t sleeping well—but really who in this agency ever sleeps well?—from what Maria and myself could tell, she’s fine. Handling everything a lot better than most other people might have. Dramatic and angry sure, but she was like that when she came to us. I talked to her briefly yesterday before she left with Dr. Carter. She seemed pretty eager to be back in the swing of things. I think what Carter said to her just… I don’t know. Set her off.”

“Let me know if you need anything further. I’ll email my full report this evening.”

***

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, la mia signorina selvaggia. I was in the neighborhood.”

“You’re neighborhood is a fairly lengthy train ride away.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see how you were. Cap said you were nursin’ a hang over.” Clint held up a paper bag. “I brought Powerade and the best oatmeal in all of Brooklyn, because, of course, I made it. And ibuprophen.” He shook the bag gently to make the pills rattle in their plastic bottle. “Was the party worth it?”

Loki wrapped her arms around him hesitantly. “Min dyrebare fugl.”

“You know I don’t understand that.”

“That’s the idea.” She pulled away, holding him at arm’s length. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“All of the terrible things I said to you.”

He shook his head and steered her up the stairs to the front door. “It’s fine. We all say shit when we’re upset.”

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Come up? I… I appreciate all of this,” she gestured to the bag he’d pressed into her hands. “But I really would just like to shower and sleep.”

“Are you alright? There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“I—“ She stepped aside to let a neighbor pass on the stairs. “I’ve been with Cooper all morning.” Clint nodded, knowingly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“That’s your business.” He smiled and started down the stairs, pausing when he reached the sidewalk again. He looked up at her, his shoulders tensing and confusion flashing briefly across his face as she willed him away. “Call me if you need anything?” She nodded and watched him go.

While not actually hung over, the food and drink did work wonders on her headache and hunger. She went through the apartment opening all of the windows. She drifted again, exhausted by the oppressive heat and the weight of her filled stomach. It was dark when she woke to the sound of her phone practically screaming out the _Star Spangled Banner_.

“Hello?”

“Are you okay in there?”

“I suppose.”

“Can I come up?” She crossed the living room to buzz him in and unlock the door. “Thanks.”

“It’s open.” She resumed her place on the couch, curled into the fur throw, and tapped the button to end the call.

His footfalls were heavy on the stairs, like he was trying to signal his approach. One of the many things about him that amused Loki so much was the way he walked. Sometimes, he was light on his feet, barely touching the ground as if he might injure the pavement. Other times, every step was telegraphed and resounding. There was the Steve Walk and the Captain America Walk and the Captain Rogers Walk. Each distinctly different. She wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it. When he put on the mask he put on the feet and the shoulders as well.

“Hey, Lovebug.” She poked her face out from underneath the fur. “Holy moley it’s hot in here. You’re gonna suffocate yourself.” His face twisted with concern. “What’s wrong?” His eyes flicked to the empty containers on the coffee table before he lifted her legs to sit down on the couch beside her. “Onheil, really, you’re going to make yourself sick.” He started to tug the fur out of her grip.

“So what?” He grunted and yanked and gave up.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong. I just… I feel like… I feel like that gross squishy feeling when you tie a wet shoelace.” He sucked in his bottom lip, mouth curling up at the edges. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not.” She sat up and slipped into his lap, held his face in her hands and glared at him. “I promise I’m not.” She shifted around to straddle him and his hands, big and warm and rough, slipped under her tee shirt and around her waist. She shivered in spite of the heat as he traced the lingering texture of the burn scar on her back.

Loki had debated back and forth in her own head as to whether or not to just deal with the scarring magically. Asgardians healed at a tremendous rate, but it wasn’t as if every healed injury left them entirely blemish free. Those with magic, those with access to talented healers—they tended to be flawless. But warriors wore their battle scars like a badge of honor and a roadmap of their exploits etched into their skin.

She’d shake her head and remind herself that she was not Asgardian.

She’d let at least part of the scar she’d been left with from the blow to her chest. The important part at least, the bit she could see. What use was the mark on her back if she could not see it to fuel her, to remind her? That one she had dealt with.

But this was too significant. She had a role to play, a façade to uphold. So it stayed.

For a while, at the very least. She changed it slowly, subtly. Smoothed out the edges, flattened ridges, evened tone.

She wondered if he noticed? Or had the changing been subtle enough?

Steve bumped his forehead against hers. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Please? You’ve been… off.”

“How?”

“Overly doting. Too affectionate. More distant. More guarded. You don’t sleep. When you do you wake up crying and won’t let me touch you.” She leaned away from him and refused to meet his eyes. “A month of living together, Onheil. And a lot longer knowing you. I know when something is up.” He pushed out his bottom lip, “And you were kind of mean this morning. But it looks like you let Barton in. He’s the only person I know who actually drinks the purple flavor.” He jerked his chin forward to indicate the empty bottle on the table.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, trying to appear coy. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Onheil, we can’t do that anymore.”

“What?” She jerked her hips roughly, making him gasp, his grip on her sides tightening. “We can’t have sex anymore? Have you taken a vow of celibacy that you’ve failed to inform me about?”

“We can’t just mess around instead of talking. It’s not… it’s not healthy. It’s not good for either of us.” She jerked her hips again and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“You started it.”

“No, you very much are the one sitting in _my_ lap trying to get _me_ hard.”

“Mm. The mouth on you.” She took his hands and moved them forward. Over her stomach, up her front. “But that’s not what I meant.” She let her head roll back, his hands responding almost mindlessly to her instruction. “The first day you were out of the hospital. You started it.” He started it in a vacation home in the woods.

“Onheil—“

“ _Please._ ”

“No.” She shook off his hands and crossed her arms over her chest, still firmly seated in his lap. She glared down at him from her perch. “Please just talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. I’ve talked about it all morning.” She gasped, surprised by her own admission. He raised a brow. “I’ve been with that awful doctor. And I _know_ Coulson and Fury were listening. I saw the damned Skype call in the reflection of his computer screen on all those pretentious degrees and certificates he has framed behind his desk. I’m not that stupid.”

Steve smiled softly and cupped her face in his hand. “No one thinks you’re stupid.”

She slapped at his forearm and sagged against him. “Stop that. I’m in no mood for mush.” He turned his face to press his lips to her cheek. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want you to fuck me. I want to fuck you.”

“Still no.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m planning.” She ran her tongue up the side of his neck, his skin salty. His body tensed. “The things I want to do to you. The places I want to touch. Where I want to put my fingers. My mouth. How I want you.” He shivered.

“N-no.”

“You’re infuriating.”

A knock at her door redirected her irritation.

“Ellie! Ellie? Are you home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Tesla's look is inspired by this model who pops up on my dashboard once in a while and I WISH I could find a photo of him to show you. When he pops up again, I'll put up a link or stick a picture in the notes.
> 
> Clint says, "my little wild miss" in Italian. Loki calls him "my precious bird" in Norwegian. There was a request for some more languages and fluff in the askbox. Hope that met the request, anon :)
> 
> For those wondering, the names of Cooper's partners are a reference to _Law & Order: SVU_ and _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. But, yeah, one of these things is not like the other.
> 
> Literally nothing happened. I'm so sorry. I had more plans for this chapter but I decided to cut it here because it was getting kind of lengthy.
> 
> Please feel free to either leave requests in the comments or in the askbox on tumblr! I do really try to incorporate all of them in some way.


	82. Shreds of His Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is too happy for Loki's tastes.

“Where are you going?”

“That kid hates me. I’m going to wait back there and stick my head out the window and hope for a breeze.”

“No he doesn’t.”

“I’ll believe that when the sky is green.”

Steve retreated into the back of the apartment, toward the bedroom, mumbling about wishing he were back in the Artic.

Owen was tapping on the door with both fists, singsonging hellos.

“Yes, my love?”

“You’re home!”

“It would appear so.”

“Is Captain Rogers home?”

“He is.”

“He’s not in the hospital? The news said he got hurt.”

“He did. He’s all better now. I’ve been taking care of him.”

“Oh! Mom said you probably went on summer vacation. I went on summer vacation. I went to camp first, not for the whole summer, though. And then we went to the beach by my aunt’s house.” He hopped up onto the couch, bouncing on the cushion. Sue leaned in the doorway, her daughter balanced on her hip.

“Did you now?”

“Uh huh. Did you check your mail? I sent you a post card.”

“I haven’t checked it yet.”

“Are you gonna hang it up?”

“Of course. Right on the fridge.”

“With the Lego magnet.”

“Absolutely.”

“I brought you something back.”

“Onheil, I apologize in advance. I didn’t think it was really appropriate, considering everything, but he insisted and Reed has no idea how to say no.”

“ _Mo-om._ ” Owen shifted around to pull his backpack off while Loki perched on the edge of the coffee table. She picked his foot up to tie his shoe while he unzipped the bag. “Close your eyes.” She did. There was rustling and then something soft was placed in her arms. “Dad took me to the Smith-sominan.” She opened her eyes, both surprised and not to see what she was holding.

“Reed had business down near Washington, took Owen along for some sight seeing when he got home from camp.”

“Yup.”

“What’s this?”

“Captain A-Bear-ica,” he said matter-of-factly. “I got him at the museum. I went to the Cap room.”

“Really? And did you learn a lot?”

“Mhm. He’s still boring—“ Sue scolded the boy lightly from the doorway. “But I guess his friends were kind of cool. The lady agent was cool, too. She had funny hair but she kicked the bad guys butts.”

Loki suppressed a laugh. She could imagine Steve listening behind the closed bedroom door, the exasperated expression he must be wearing. “Oh? Which Commando is your favorite?”

“I don’t know.”

“Which one was the least boring?”

He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes while he considered it. “Jones, I think. He could talk to a lot of people and Captain Rogers and the other ones couldn’t. I have a friend at school who can only speak Spanish. I bet Jones could talk to him.”

“Onheil, you’re awful. Don’t encourage him.”

“ _Anyway_. I thought that if you had him,” he tugged on the bear’s ear, “you wouldn’t miss Captain Rogers when he went away and then you wouldn’t have to go with him and we could do more things.”

“That was very clever of you. I think I’m missing Steve less already.” She smacked her lips in a noisy kiss against the bear’s nose.

“I have something else, too.” He rummaged in the bag and produced a similar bear. This one was dressed in a little blue coat with a double row of buttons and a turned up collar. “I thought Captain Rogers would like him.”

“What’s this?”

“A Bucky Bear. They said at the museum that he was really sad when Sergeant Barnes fell off the train.” He zipped up his backpack and placed his other foot on Loki’s knee to have that lace tied as well. “He doesn’t smile a lot. I thought maybe Bucky Bear would make him smile.” Loki pressed a kiss to Owen’s forehead, which he promptly wiped away with the back of his hand. “It’s really hot in here, you know. You should turn your air conditioner on.”

“C’mon, Owen, you’ve got dinner to eat and summer homework to work on.”

“ _Mo-om_.”

“You should listen to your mother. Thank you very much for my present.” She ushered him toward the door. “I’m sure Steve will love his as well.”

***

“I’m boring, huh?”

“Evidently.” He raised a brow at the teddy bear wearing his uniform, a little plush shield strapped to his arm. “This one is yours.” Onheil held out the second bear to him. He tried not to smile and failed.

“I think—“ Steve’s phone began to buzz in his pocket. “Hello?”

“Captain Rogers? I’m sorry to bother you. I figured you were out on a date, it bein’ a Friday night an’ all, but this guy is looking for you.” It was the manager of his building. “He’s a courier, says he’s from _World News_. Got a package for you, won’t let me sign for it. Says he has instructions to deliver it directly to you. Figured it might be important, ‘specially in the middle of the evening like this, otherwise I would have told him to try again tomorrow.”

“I’ll um, I’ll be right over.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket and picked up his messenger bag from beside the couch. Bucky Bear got tucked carefully inside. “I’ll let you get back to cooking yourself.” Onheil punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Be careful. I might retaliate by buying you an air conditioner.”

He kissed her lightly and turned to open the door. “Wait.” She rummaged in the drawer on the coffee table for a moment and produced a set of keys. She handed them to him wordlessly and shoved him out into the hallway. When he turned to peek back at her at the top of the stairs she was sticking out her tongue at him and closing the door.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Captain Rogers?” The young man who seemed to belong to the bicycle waiting outside against the stairs looked at him with wide eyes.

“Yes?”

“Sir, I, um… Andrew Bernard said that I had to put this directly in your hands and no one else’s. I-I-I’m sorry for disturbing you, sir.” The building manager folded his hands under his chin and batted his eyelashes over the courier’s shoulder. Steve forced himself to look directly at the courier.

“It’s no problem, really. I was on my way home.” A small lie. “Where do you need me to sign?” He produced a pen and a clipboard and passed them to Steve then exchanged them for a small manila envelope. “Thanks.” He started to walk past the courier toward the mailboxes on the wall near the stairs. “Have a nice night.”

“S-sir?” Steve paused in opening his mailbox. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”

“Depends on what the favor is.”

His face blanched for a moment before he pulled out a program from the Smithsonian exhibit. Steve was getting a little tired of hearing about it. “Can you sign this, sir?”

“Only if you stop calling me _sir._ ”

“Y-yes, sir—I mean—Captain—I—“

“Do you have a marker? That pen won’t work so well on this thing.” The young man shook his head like he was rattling his brains around in his skull. “No problem.” Steve opened his messenger bag, careful not to let the teddy bear be seen, and pulled out a handful of copic markers, a Sharpie hidden amongst them. The courier held the program out to him to be signed.

“Thank you, Captain Rogers. Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you.” He waved the envelope the courier had given him. “Have a nice night, now.” He turned back to his mailbox, watching the young man bound out the door and down the steps in his peripheral vision.

“You’re too nice to people, Captain. Gonna bite you in the caboose some day.”

“Some day, not now.”

Steve emptied out his bag when he went up the stairs. Sketchbook and markers got put away, he’d finish the picture he’d started while killing time in Union Square Park in the morning. Over a month’s worth of held mail from the post office got dumped out on the kitchen table. He eyed the bear lying beside the avalanche of envelopes and catalogues and magazines. Bucky Bear found a home, at least for the moment, on the bookshelf in the living room.

Steve sorted his mail methodically. Bills, mostly. He rarely got mail that was more personal. A few _thinking of you_ cards from the kids in his sculpting class and the people at church. Updates, pamphlets, and fliers from the handful of charities he donated to. His renewal packets for all of his museum memberships that would be due by the end of the year. Subscriptions to a pile of art publications got stacked in alphabetical order for perusing later. Separately sorted were magazines on military topics—he especially enjoyed the Air Force publications— _National Geographic,_ an assortment of science publications on everything from general popular news to physics and astronomy.

Steve did a lot of recycling. Passed some of them around to neighbors when he was finished. There was a kid on the second floor who wanted to be an astronaut-slash-ballerina. She got most of the non-art ones.

He looked down at the manila envelope he’d signed for, not sure if he wanted to open it. It was heavier than he expected if it was just papers. Felt like there was a disc or something inside sliding around. He sliced it open with his letter opener.

There was indeed a disc. A thick piece of stationary, something creamy and expensive looking slid out with it. He unfolded it to find _AB_ embossed at the top, Bernard’s scrawling handwriting across the paper.

> _Captain Rogers,_
> 
> _Enclosed is the “official” rough cut of the program that is scheduled to air this Sunday. I’m still waiting on a few video clips and higher resolution scans from the museum to fill in the blank spaces under the voice-overs. Some things may still be cut in the interest of time—have to satisfy those advertisers!_
> 
> _I hope that what we’ve put together is something you can stand behind. I’ve tried to honor your request that the focus be diverted from the Captain America persona to the best of my abilities and within the requirements that my producers have laid out._
> 
> _I truly do hope you enjoy it. Give it a watch, if you have any questions or concerns please don’t hesitate to call or email me between tonight and Saturday evening. I’ll assume no contact means that you’re pleased with the program._
> 
> _Thank you again for your time. It was a pleasure and an honor._
> 
> _Andrew Bernard_

At the bottom of the note was his contact information. Steve didn’t even begin to wonder how Bernard had gotten a hold of his home address to have this delivered.

He sat there at the kitchen table opening up bills and writing checks. _No one writes checks anymore, Steve._ Everyone told him that. Set up online paying. Link everything to your bank account. Paperless is the way to go.

He liked to have something solid that he could keep track of on his own terms, always aware of how much he’d spent and how much he had available. Paid in cash as often as he could. Used his debit card only for big purchases. Credit cards were for emergencies only. Old habits died hard.

Someone tossed things noisily into the recycling bin in the alley beside the building. A symphony of horns blared and someone cursed the drivers. His work phone lit up periodically with SHIELD emails that probably had nothing to do with him but clogged his inbox anyway.

The world went on around him and the disc from Bernard sat near the edge of the table calling out to be watched. He continued to ignore it.

Steve slipped out of the chair at the kitchen table. He slipped out of his shoes, out of his clothes, leaving them in a careless trail through the apartment. His apartment. His floor. His hall. His bathroom. He turned on the water in the shower, setting it to lukewarm, and slipped under the steady spray.

_I want you to fuck me._

She’d looked up at him through that thick fan of eyelash; green eyes burning into him like some kind of witchcraft. He couldn’t. They shouldn’t. He knew full well that he’d been the one to start them down the path of resorting to using intimacy to circumvent communication and he was going to put a stop to it before it became destructive. He wasn’t going to lose her again.

_The mouth on you_ …

She’d told him once that his mouth would get him into trouble. He closed his eyes and rolled his neck while he stood under the water, thinking about Onheil’s thumb between his lips and against his tongue. His skin crawled in the best way when he ran his soapy loofah over his chest and stomach.

_The things I want to do to you…_

He opened his eyes and dragged his thoughts back toward soap and water and squeaky-clean skin. He lathered up his hair with shampoo that was supposed to smell manly but really smelled like nothing. Maybe vaguely minty. It made his scalp feel like he’d dunked his head in cold water for a few seconds.

_The places I want to touch…_

Steve’s hands dropped from his head to his cock. He leaned back and pressed his shoulders against the cool tile wall. The water pounded steadily against his stomach and ran in rivulets over his hips and pelvis and down his thighs. His fist slipped slowly up and down his shaft, the other tugging gently at his testicles and trying to replicate that delicious tension he felt when Onheil went down on him.

Finding it impossible to recreate the feeling, he braced his forearm against the wall and let his mind wander. He could feel the blush rise in his skin like it was coming up from his toes to wash over him and crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. He continued to stroke while he widened his footing and dropped his hips. His free hand moved over his hip and across the swell of his buttock. He probed at the swatch of skin behind his testicles and ran his fingers up between his cheeks.

He’d never done it, but he wondered what it was all about.

He pressed his lips together, the urge to be quiet and discreet making him feel silly, but not silly enough to stop.

_The places I want to put my fingers. My mouth. How I want you._

He drew in a shaky breath while he stroked at the pucker of muscle with his fingertips. Used more pressure. Pressed up but not in—hadn’t she said something about lubrication? That made sense. He didn’t have any unless you counted spit and soap and he wasn’t keen on either one.

He continued to explore, deciding where and how much and how hard. His fist continued to move.

_I want to fuck you._

He nearly slipped and fell, the muscles in his backside and legs clenching and spasming, sticky semen landing in drops across his stomach and spilling down over his fingers. His hand slapped out against the wall to catch himself on nothing.

Her voice had been so dark.

Maybe his mouth was really getting him into trouble.

He puttered around for another hour, making coffee, leafing through the newspaper and not really absorbing anything. Finally, he grabbed the disc off the counter and loaded it up on his laptop, settling back into bed with the device on his knees.

Steve found himself pleasantly surprised. He’d expected from the note that it would be the exact opposite of what he’d set out to accomplish in agreeing to the interview.

 “One thing actually had me kind of… gobsmacked? Do people say that anymore? I think I picked that one up somewhere along the line from Falsworth,” he said on the screen. “One thing that had me gobsmacked was that _Art in America_ was still being published. That was one of those things that sort of provided a lot of comfort—a lot more than a stupid magazine really should. But I’d subscribed to it before everything. We really couldn’t afford it; it wasn’t a necessity the same way having a newspaper with job ads in it was. But Bucky insisted that I have it. He and his little sister pooled some spare money to get me a year of it once and I picked it up when I could. Before that, my ma bought it for me when she had some extra money at the end of the month.” He grinned, thinking about the most recent copy sitting in the stack on the kitchen table waiting for him. “It was some shred of my past, of who I was and what I was about, that hadn’t been locked away in some government archive or lost on a plane in the Artic or pitched into the garbage when I never came home. Because… because I never intended for the war to be my life.”

The shots of him talking or Bernard asking questions were threaded together with voice-overs of his own comments and what he figured was work Bernard had recorded at some point. They were laid over clips taken over Steve’s shoulder while he sketched a rough portrait of the sound guy, or setting up the coffee pot, or warming up to run. They were laid over photos and drawings and letters that he hadn’t seen in years, some that he didn’t even know had existed in the first place.

There were a few short clips; presumably either borrowed from the Smithsonian or from old news reels, of Peggy and the others. Howard grinned out at him, the picture of put-together-ness marred only by the tiny bit of soot on his shirt collar and the vaguely smoky looking room behind him.

Bernard had kept his word. The whole thing, all two solid hours of it, wasn’t about Captain America. It was about the people who had banded together to make the persona a successful venture—it was about his family. More selfishly, it was about Steve Rogers. It was about the kid from Brooklyn and his exceptional mother and his second adopted family and the community that he grew up in and the world that he knew and the world that he’d hoped and fought for in back alleys and on the battlefront.

It closed with the last minute shots they’d taken at the World War II memorial. He barely heard the voiceover that accompanied it. His chest was tight and his throat was raw and his vision was blurry with salty tears. But it felt good.

Saturday morning found him at the hardware store first thing. He took a cab back into the neighborhood, two long boxes beside him on the seat and Onheil’s keys in his pocket. He took a breath, texted her to let her know he was coming up, and let himself in the front door.

He found her still in bed, clad in a threadbare looking tee shirt, not quite in a fetal position. Her back and sides expanded and fell in short bursts, her fingers gripping her sleeve, hugging herself, with the other hand trapped between her knees.

She nested even in the sweltering July heat. The hot breeze coming in through the window did nothing to help the situation. He set the boxes down in the hallway and padded across the floor to lean down and press a kiss against her head.

“I knew the moment I gave you those keys that I would regret it.”

“I did text you.”

“And I ignored it. You’re either adverse or immune to sleep.” She buried her face deeper in the pile of pillows, Captain A-Bear-ica trapped against the wall beside her. He laughed it off and went to install a fan in her living room window. With the way her furniture was arranged, an air conditioner just wouldn’t work, they’d be smacking their heads against it whether he put it over the couch or the bed. He didn’t hear a peep out of her until he was banging a two-by-four into place to keep anyone from opening the window while the fan was there. “Are you breaking my apartment?”

“No!” The kettle screamed and she still hadn’t emerged from the bedroom. He was fairly sure that she was just lying there staring at the ceiling, trying her hardest to get a rise out of him. “I’m gonna put tea in! It’s gonna be soup when you come out!” The fridge was virtually empty. He opened and closed doors and drawers until he found a box of pancake mix.

“Keep your hands out of my tea cabinet!” He beat the mix together and let it sit on the counter. He’d physically lift her out of bed if he had to. He rolled his eyes as his text tone sounded signaling what he was sure was the twelfth message from Stark that morning.

“On—“ She was sitting up with her arms stretched over her head, a fist dropped down to rub at her eyes. She looked preposterous sitting in the middle of her pillow and blanket nest, the teddy bear propped up behind her. His lips stretched into a smile and he surreptitiously snapped a photo.

“Delete that.”

“No way.” He plunked down on the edge of the mattress. “It’s not often you ooze cuteness. Usually it’s like you’re a human Venus flytrap.”

She squinted at him and crossed her arms in front of herself to grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up and over her head. She stretched again and dropped it behind her. “And now I’m decidedly less cute.”

Steve gathered Onheil into his arms and mouthed along her collarbone until she squirmed. “Nah, still optimum cute levels.”

She chuckled and pulled away. “You’re an idiot.” Her index fingers hooked into the back of her panties as she walked, snapping the elastic against her skin before she disappeared into the bathroom.

He’d finished making a stack of pancakes for each of them and reheated the tea water when she appeared in the living room. “Tony keeps texting me.”

“Probably wants to return your motorcycle.”

“Yeah, that. But he wants us to come over to watch the interview tomorrow night. Evidently Clint and Natasha are already in, Natasha says Maria wants to come. I think Rhodes might even be in town. He’s making a party out of it.”

“Sounds like the Avengers are assembling.”

“It would seem so.”

“No Hulk? No God of Thunder?”

“Not that I know of. Bruce is still off-grid last I heard. There’s been radio silence from Thor, Dr. Foster hasn’t even heard from him in a good while. Kinda hoping that means he found Loki and is dealing with whatever fallout there is.” He licked his lips and wiped a stray droplet of syrup off his chin. “I’m not too keen on another inter-dimensional alien invasion. Or… space zombies. Right?” He furrowed his brow and studied the bit of pancake skewered on his fork. “He thinks Loki is undead? And extra magical—“

“You should thank Rhodes if he does come. He was quite instrumental in keeping us informed about what your status was. Tracked that boy down.”

Steve nodded, “I haven’t written that letter yet.”

“You should, Steve.”

“I know. I just can’t put my thoughts together coherently.”

***

Loki felt on edge the moment she stepped inside the front doors of Stark Tower. Steve’s astronomical levels of chipperness the day previous had set her off. His determination to be helpful and doting only served to make her want to draw away. And while she was grateful for the drop in temperature once he’d put the second fan in her bedroom window and turned the two on to draw the stagnant air out, she wished he would have left her to her own devices.

The silence from Asgard made her nervous. SHIELD had had no contact from Thor. Loki had had no contact from Hel.

And Sigyn knew. Somehow.

Which could work in Loki’s favor or completely against it with no middle ground. Sigyn would never knowingly sabotage or hurt Loki, but if she believed she were helping or protecting him…

“You okay?”

“Mm? Yes. Of course. This is just incredibly odd. To be gathering to watch you on the television with you sitting in the room.”

“Want me to leave?” He laughed and she told him not to be silly. “I can’t help it. I just feel really good about this.”

“You certainly didn’t seem like you felt good about it the last day the camera crew was there.”

He shrugged. “They sent me a disc, I got to see it already.” He explained that a courier had shown up on Friday night—the reason he’d had to leave so abruptly. “I’m happy with what they did.”

“Something is bothering me, though.” He asked her what. “You said you lived with me for a month. You didn’t live with me for a month.”

“Really? Felt that long. Pure agony.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully.

“Rogers!”

They stepped off the elevator and into Tony’s home. “Hello to you too, Stark.”

Steve was embraced all around until Stark wormed his way back through the crowd. “Hey! I was talking.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“We’ve been calling you guys for like an hour. You missed it.”

“We were on the train, there’s no service down there. What did we miss?”

“Banner called.” Natasha’s soft tones cut through the hubbub. “Just a check in. Wanted to see if the Asgardian situation had been contained. He’s afraid to come back. He doesn’t want to have the Hulk in a vulnerable position again.”

“How is he?”

“He’s alright. He left Calcutta. Said there were some people prying a little too closely for his comfort. Didn’t disclose his new location. Was more worried about you than anything else.” Her eyes flicked in Loki’s direction and then back to Steve. “Said he probably wouldn’t have gotten in touch if he hadn’t heard about you being hurt. Evidently you’re international news.”

“Can we talk while we’re eating?” Maria raised her hand as if in a classroom. “I slept at HQ last night and haven’t had a thing all day.”

The group herded into the living room. There were boxes of pizza set out, enough to feed them all several times over, all marked with what was inside. White, pepperoni, mushroom, anchovy, buffalo, Steve…

“Steve pizza?”

“That one’s all yours, big guy. You haven’t had it in over—what?—a month and I’ve seen you pack food away like you hadn’t eaten in as long.” Steve laughed and shook his head and thanked them. Soon enough they were all gathered in the screening room, settled into the cushions with more pizza and drinks and massive bowls of popcorn.

JARVIS turned the lights down low as the introduction to the special began to play. Steve’s portrait, one of the photos they’d taken during the shoot, appeared on screen. They’d turned it grayscale. The lighting gave him an ethereal quality as Andrew Bernard began to introduce the program.

The group continued to chatter. Steve settled his arm over Loki’s shoulder, his beer bottle bumping against her arm and giving her goose bumps at the cold, clammy touch.

“Shh!” Coulson looked positively childlike with the popcorn in his lap and the gleam in his eye. “It’s starting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Art in America_ was established in 1913 and was centered in New York City's art culture. It's an illustrated magazine that's now distributed internationally.
> 
> The scene with Loki in bed and the teddy bear was inspired by a bit of fan art done for the story that you can find on the blog.
> 
> Next up we'll see the interview and then everyone's reaction to it.
> 
> As ever, thank you.


	83. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bolded paragraphs are meant to be voice overs by the interviewer/narrator. Italicized things in brackets are just descriptions of what's going on on the screen since everything else is pure dialogue. This was never meant to be the entire interview, just sort of the highlights, I guess? But it feels sort of complete to me as it is so here you go.

**Steve Rogers is a mystery. The man behind the blue mask and the iconic shield, even after close to a hundred years of life, is someone we don’t know. He’s someone we haven’t taken the time to know.**

**Our first glimpse into the private life of Captain America came last year when he appeared on television at an event at John Jay College in New York City catering to our country’s veterans. Captain America went public with his Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and spoke candidly about his treatment and his past. Opinions on the good Captain varied wildly: everything from emphatic praise and support to surprising anger that he had torn down the steadfast image of Captain America that the nation had been fostering since his plane went down in the Artic in May of 1945.**

**The Steve Rogers who sat down with me over the course of the week of July 4 th is unlike anything I expected.**

_[Captain Rogers looks down, a smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. He runs his fingers through hair that seems to be freshly barbered. It’s styled into the iconic dapper ‘do we all know well. At almost a century old, Rogers is still as baby-faced as the say he was injected with the Super Solider Serum in 1943.]_

**S:** “It’s funny. I was just having this conversation. Everyone I meet expects me to be sort of…I don’t know how to describe it…robotic? Robotic. Like I’m someone’s grandfather trapped in a young body. They expect me to be very straight-laced and clean cut. Like I’m a living parody of the old-fashioned ideal.”

**A:** “But you’re not? You look pretty straight-laced and clean cut to me.”

**S:** “That would be the haircut and shave.”

_[Rogers laughs and finally looks up to make eye contact with his interviewer. His eyes are a brilliant, clear blue made more vibrant against the cobalt shirt that hugs his muscular shoulders and the warm lighting in the room.]_

**S:** “There are a lot of fairly disappointed people who meet me. I try to be, you know, the Captain America that they expect. I play the _aww, shucks_ part pretty well, it’s like I’m on the USO tour again sometimes. Gotta kiss the baby, smile for the camera, shake the Senator’s hand. No one really cares about what I’m thinking. At least that’s the way it feels. Sort of like that alone-in-a-crowded-room sensation.”

**A:** “You said you were just having this conversation. Can I ask with whom?”

**Rogers gets an almost child-like air about him when he wags his finger and shakes his head. He says that he knows exactly what I’m getting at and references the extensive SHIELD briefing and the list of topics that were off-limits we received and were required to sign off on before Rogers or the agency he works for would agree to sit down with us. Admittedly, I want to know if this prior conversation was with the woman Rogers is reportedly dating. He denies it but does confirm he is in a relationship. When asked if it is with the same woman he was photographed with at Stark Industries’ Charity Scholarship Benefit last October, he confirms again and steers the topic away from his romantic entanglement with tact that says he recognizes the public’s interest in him but values what little privacy he is afforded as a national icon. He wants to spare his girlfriend from that scrutiny.**

**S:** “It was actually my roommate at Walter Reed. Interesting guy. Kept me from going crazy in there, kept me focused. Listened to me whine about the progress I thought I should be making in physical therapy and rant about zombies on television.”

**A:** “So the rumors are true, then? You spent time hospitalized recently.”

**S:** “Yes. I was injured on a mission.”

**A:** “That’s pretty surprising, the Super Soldier was injured badly enough to require medical treatment.”

**S:** “Surprised the hell out of me too. It’s not like I’m indestructible. Never have been. Within the first few minutes after the serum was administered I was already shot and bleeding. Just a flesh wound, really. Grazed my side while I was chasing the shooter, a Hydra agent that had been undercover watching Rebirth and had tried to steal a vial of the serum for Red Skull. Between the oxygen high and the adrenaline, though, I barely felt it.”

**A:** “Oxygen high?”

**S:** “I was asthmatic. That’s pretty common knowledge, I think. I had a laundry list of other problems, too, but the first thing that really struck me when I stepped out of the Rebirth chamber—no, _fell out_ of the chamber—was how much air there was. It was the first time I had ever felt what it was like to fill up my lungs, take a deep breath. There’s a reason they put all kinds of warnings on oxygen tanks about proper use. Makes your brain swim. I felt invincible. Until I started running, at least. It was like learning to walk all over again—had no idea how fast I could go or how much power I had. I was uncoordinated, couldn’t control my own momentum. Crashed right through a storefront window. Knocked over a dress form with a wedding gown on it. I caught the agent, but he cracked open a cyanide capsule.”

_[An image of the front page of a New York newspaper from June of 1943 appears on the screen. Rogers, an unknown at the time, is pictured holding a Red Star Taxi Company door like a shield.]_

**A:** “So, you were injured on a mission. You can imagine what my next question is.”

**S:** “I can. Unfortunately, that information is classified for the moment. It’s part of an ongoing operation. If I told you what it was about, it would put a lot of lives in danger.”

**A:** “Fair enough. Can you tell me what kind of injury it was?”

_{Rogers looks somewhere off camera for a moment for confirmation from his handlers.]_

**S:** “Spinal injury. I was paralyzed for a while. Combination of the serum’s effects and incredible doctors and therapists have allowed me to regain use of my legs. I’m still doing some light physical therapy.”

**Rogers declines to say much more about the specifics of the mission he was on or the specific injuries he sustained. He does reference a female pilot who flew him out of danger and a young soldier who stayed by his side during initial surgery. Rogers is emphatic in his thanks for them as well as the extended medical team that cared for him. He’s purposefully vague and avoids any direct reference to locations or specific names.**

**S:** “I’ve never been a good patient. The people who helped me after I was injured unfortunately found that out the hard way. I can’t stand to be still. As a kid, I was in and out of the hospital a few times a year; less often when I was older. Most times it was by the grace of a doctor on the staff at Brooklyn that knew my mom and swept the bills under the carpet or agreed to treat me at no cost. When whatever was wrong with me wasn’t too bad, mom would keep me home. I just wanted to be like other kids, be able to run and play and roughhouse. It was impossible, though.

_[Rogers looks down at his hands and holds them up to tick off each item as he lists them. He has an oddly wistful smile on his face, like he’s thinking of something funny or remembering a pleasant time.]_

**S:** “Asthma, [censored] eyesight aside from color blindness, fairly deaf… heart problems like you wouldn’t believe: arrhythmia, palpitations, high blood pressure, angina… anemia—the amount of liver I had to eat was just obscene; raw, by the way—flat feet and scoliosis were just an absolute day at the beach… look at that, ran out of fingers…there’s not much left, don’t worry… I had rheumatic fever at one point, all that aspirin went really well with my ulcers, and scarlet fever… there was also garden-variety _nervous trouble_ , lots of cases of colds or sinusitis… Ma was diabetic, so it was sort of touch and go as to whether I would be too. Had to monitor myself constantly. I got tired really easily, which wasn’t exactly a surprise. But the one thing everybody thought I’d kick the bucket from—tuberculosis—never touched me. Ma worked in the TB wards, pay was a little better, but she was meticulous about scrubbing down and making sure she didn’t bring anything home.”

**A:** “Captain, I have to say, I’m astounded you ever got out of bed—let alone lived into adulthood, to be perfectly frank.”

_[Rogers barks out a laugh. Some of the tension in his shoulders slips away. He shifts in his seat to get comfortable.]_

**S:** “I missed a lot of school, to say the very least. But Bucky was always good about getting my lessons from my teachers and bringing them home to me. He was a year ahead, but he’d hang around after dismissal and harass the faculty for my books and anything else he could get out of them. Only person more determined to keep me educated from my bedside was Ma. She’d take off as much time from work as she could or take less than desirable shifts so she could be home when I was awake and alert.”

**A:** “Bucky. You mean Sergeant James Barnes, 107th, of course.”

**S:** “Yeah…yes. We called him Bucky, for as long as I can remember. I think the only person who ever called him James was his Ma when she was going to skin ‘im for getting into trouble. You see, everybody thought Bucky was the troublemaker because he _finished_ the fights. Never pegged _me_ for being the one who started them. Not even considering all the health problems, I was all of ninety-five pounds and barely cleared the height requirements at Coney Island. Bucky’s kid sister was bigger than I was. But I had a mouth on me like you wouldn’t believe and I didn’t know how—no, _couldn’t_ keep it shut. If I saw something was wrong, I wasn’t going to keep quiet about it. I was a bit of what the kids now call a _sass-master_ with a pretty decent right hook. And I was small and squirmy, so until I was tired or a hit landed, I was hard to catch. Bucky saved my ass more times than I can count. But he wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t a hothead the same way I was. He didn’t stand for [censored] either, but he knew how to pick his battles. Bucky was pretty quiet for the most part but when he talked he knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He was wicked smart. Loved science. His last night in town, we doubled at Modern Marvels, of all places, when most other fellas would have spent the night drinking and getting laid.”

_[Rogers had been laughing his way through the moment of nostalgia. Now, he chews his bottom lip and looks away for a moment.]_

**S:** “But, ah, yeah. All around good guy. Pitched a ball as well as any of the Dodgers—baseball was like our life-blood as kids. Did track and field for a year or two in high school. Had an ear for music and the dancing feet to match. It sounds cheesy, but he was the American Dream. He knew how to have a good time, but never over-did it. Didn’t run around from girl to girl even if they were practically throwing themselves at him, especially after he came home from training in that uniform! His biggest vice was that he smoked like a chimney when he was under stress. Picked it up when he started working as a social habit. The smoke bothered me though, so he kept a cap on it for the most part. Bucky and I grew up together. Grew up at home, grew up in the Army. We were more than friends; we were _brothers_ … The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”

_[Rogers’ mouth turns up on one side.]_

**S:** “We practically lived by that. Our formative years were spent learning how to survive, living through the Depression and trying to find a place in the upswing right before the war. Through, on my part, being considered not of sound mind and coping with physical disability. For him, being the fool who continued to stick by that Rogers kid who clearly was not quite right. There was a certain amount of dependency on him by me. I can’t count the amount of times I owed my life and livelihood to Bucky or his family in one way or another, especially after Ma died. I was every bit the starving artist, and when you have a hard time holding onto a job because of chronic illness, having a room mate to help pay the rent and keep food on the table is a pretty spectacular thing.But it wasn’t us against the world, either. I had other friends, although none as close. He had plenty of social connections to varying degrees. Bucky had this irresistible magnetism about him. You couldn’t help but want to be his friend. I didn’t have any really significant relationships with people in general for a lot of reasons. I was a hard person to get along with, at the very least… and my entire life, I had been resigned to the fact that I was going to die young. Why would I want to get involved in something when the next bad cough could mean the end was neigh? Why would I want to bring anyone else into that mess? I didn’t give a lot of weight to really getting to know any woman well enough when I was convinced it was going to end poorly or abruptly at some point. Getting married, having a family—that was just something that I never believed was in the cards for me. I kept any entanglements as casual as I could without getting hurt or hurting someone else.”

**A:** “People have more than romanticized the relationship between yourself and Sergeant Barnes, I’m sure you’re aware. The reigning theory is that the two of you were actually involved. Your mission to rescue him after the 107th had been practically demolished reads like a love story.”

**S: ‘** When I went behind the German line to rescue Bucky, yes, absolutely, my focus was him and him alone. Saving the others was an added bonus and a task I was more than glad to undertake if it meant finding him and bringing him back alive. But it was also part of a far larger plan—To undermine the Red Skull. To put holes in the illusion of absolute supremacy that he’d created and the fear he wielded. To prove my usefulness as a weapon and the strategic value of my abilities beyond the character of Captain America and _as_ Captain America. That mission was as much Agent Carter and Howard Stark as it was me. I was the lunatic that suggested it, but I wouldn’t have gotten there if it hadn’t been for Agent Carter’s resourcefulness or Stark’s willingness to help and complete disregard for the rules.”

_[Rogers takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment. He exhales slowly, seeming to have a precarious hold on composure. His tone has remained calm and conversational, but it’s clear that he finds this difficult to talk about.]_

S: “I love Bucky, always have and always will. I can absolutely see the appeal and the beauty in the notion that the love between us was more of the star-crossed variety. It gives people hope.”

A: “You were devastated by his loss.”

S: “I think you can reasonably call that an understatement.”

_[Rogers gets visibly filled up for a moment. The emotion is gone from his face as quickly as it appeared. He has the air of someone who has repeatedly relayed this story, though not having it become easier with time. He straightens in his seat, his expression turning stoic. His posture, even seated, is as upright as if he were standing at parade rest.]_

S: “I lived my life without regrets. If I wanted to do something, I tried my hardest to get it done. I wanted to be an artist, so I became one, you know? I never let any of my health problems hold me back if it was at all possible. I never let lack of money hold me back if that was possible. I worked within the very outer limits of the realities of my life. I never felt that I had failed at anything. I just thought of non-successes as stepping-stones and lessons and challenges to be overcome. At least that’s what I told myself when I got up every morning after thanking God that He let me get up at all. Bucky’s death was the first time it ever immediately hit me that I had failed.”

_[Rogers pauses for a beat. His eyes sweep the room as if looking for someone to step in or for some route to escape. He swallows hard before continuing.]_

S: “Bucky always protected me. He always had my back. Whether it was in the alley behind the picture house or in his sniper’s nest at the edge of a HYDRA base. When he needed me, I didn’t have his back. We were on the train. We were going to take Zola, clear out or destroy whatever weapons they were transporting, take whatever supplies could be used. There was an agent shooting at us with this ridiculous blaster. I blocked a shot with the shield. The force of the blast ricocheted to the side, blew out the wall of the car, knocked me flat on my damned face, kicked the breath right out of me. The shield had been ripped out of my hands; I thought it had gone out of the car. I could hear the blaster charging for another shot and it was like everything was going in slow motion, as cliché as that sounds. I thought, _This is it. This is how it ends. I’m going to be blown to smithereens._ I started to get up and I saw Bucky pick up the shield. It was just lying there on the floor. He held it up to cover himself, aimed his gun. The agent shot… Bucky was clinging to the rail on what was left of the wall, dangling over nothing. I reached out to grab his hand to pull him back in. When he tried to grab me, he couldn’t reach and the rail broke off under his weight and he fell. I still hear him screaming. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can see his face in that last moment. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He was terrified and he needed me and I failed him. He was doing what he always did—covering my back, protecting me—and he died for it. The temptation to jump after him was incredible. Just the idea that there was the slightest chance that I could catch him… My body is resilient, but there’s no way I could have survived that fall. I still had a mission to carry out. I had my men to back up. Red Skull still needed to be stopped. Bucky would have kicked my ass for jumping after him.”

_[Rogers’ jaw clenches. His face flushes with color. His nostrils flare. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it again. Tears slip down over his cheeks.]_

S: “Could… could we take a break? I need a break.”

_[Rogers stands up, his abdomen and legs fill the frame and he fumbles with the microphone pack in his pocket before walking off screen.]_

**When Captain Rogers is able to return, he seems almost serene. He assures us that he is okay to continue the interview. He chitchats amiably with the crew as they re-attach his microphone and adjust the sound once again. If you hadn’t seen him overcome with emotion, you would have never known it had happened. It’s immediately evident that this is his “game face.” This is when the performance begins. Steve Rogers is still there; his answers are just as sincere as they were when we started. But something has changed. He has slipped into the persona of Captain America. He is an actor on a stage, upholding the image of the good-natured, smiling icon that the nation has looked to for strength in it’s darkest moments—even when, it seems, his own strength is faltering.**

S: “When they pulled me out of the ice, for everyone else, almost seventy years had gone by. For me, it wasn’t even a blip on the radar. It had been days. Hours. Minutes. Right after it happened, they flew us out to the SSR headquarters in London. There was a bar—a pub—nearby. It has been destroyed in the bombings. Before that, it was where we formed the Howling Commandos. I needed to get away from everyone. It was all just too much. Higher ups had decided that it was too dangerous to search for Bucky’s body. HYDRA knew we were in the area. We weren’t sure exactly where to search. I agreed, but it didn’t make it any easier. I went to the pub. Found a table. A few bottles that for some reason hadn’t been broken. They never explained everything that would happen to my body because of the serum. I just wanted to get blackout drunk and forget everything, go numb. Couldn’t. My metabolism burns four times faster than the average man. My body was processing the booze as fast as I could drink it. Guess I’m the perpetual designated driver now.”

_[He laughs, the sound harsh.]_

S: “The week or so before the alien attack on New York, when the Avengers came together, the Smithsonian contacted me. They wanted me to come tour the exhibit, add to it if I could, clarify some things that were vague or there had been multiple accounts of. I couldn’t bring myself to make the trip down. I didn’t want to see what they had. Not in person. It was too clinical. Here was my life and the lives of my friends on display in a museum, complete with a gift shop. It just seemed strange. Morbid. I knew that wasn’t the intent, I was supposed to have been long dead. I was a piece of history. They sent me photos of the exhibit, copies of the film clips and interviews, all sorts of things. I realized that I had been avoiding feeling anything. I let myself start to grieve. I started to leave my apartment more often. Started exploring the city rather than just passing through it.”

_[A black-and-white film clip provided by the Smithsonian plays. There is no sound. The frame shows Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes during the war, smiling and laughing. Rogers’ voice plays over the image.]_

S: “I asked if I could give… sort of an epitaph, I suppose. Bucky didn’t have a grave. There was no marker, nothing that said: he lived, he died, and he did these things. I guess it was selfish of me; his family could have made that choice if they wanted to. I needed it. So I asked if they’d add something to go along with his Army portrait. It, um, it was published well after our time, but…”

_[The portrait appears on-screen. Barnes’ gaze is almost unnerving in its intensity. Rogers continues.]_

S: “Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, do not go gentle into that good night… Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

**A fresh start is more than welcome when we sit down with Rogers again. As much as we know, or think we know, about him during the height of his service as Captain America is proportionate to how truly little we know about him previous to his appearance on the battlefield. When asked to speak about his youth and the time prior to his improbable enlistment, Rogers seems completely taken back. He shares that very few people generally have interest in him, in _Steve Rogers_. He seems eager to share. Over the course of his story sharing, the years seem to melt away. The furrow in his brow softens. Although still maintaining enviable posture, his frame relaxes. The smiles and laughter come more easily with his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. The crew and myself discover he has biting wit and a talent for good-natured sarcasm. We can all see the _sass-master_ he described earlier in the pauses between questions and answers when he allows the carefully cultivated, protective persona to waver. Even when discussing difficult topics, he appears at his leisure.**

_[Rogers snorts out a laugh into the mug he holds up to his lips. He settles with the mug in his hands, resting against his thigh. He appears well rested, or at least more so than before.]_

**S:** “Where would you like me to start?”

**A:** “At the beginning, of course.”

**S:** “Ah, so then… It was a sweltering July Fourth in the year nineteen-hundred-and-eighteen—“

_[Rogers grins when his interviewer laughs. Just off screen, his phone chimes. He leans over to see what it is and smiles to himself and then apologizes for the interruption.]_

**A:** “Quite alright, Captain. How about you start by telling me a little about your parents? Sarah and Joseph, right?”

**S:** “Yeah. I never met my dad, so it was just me and Ma growing up. She always made sure that I knew about him, though. We had two photos. I wish I still had them. It’s hard to remember what he looked like sometimes. One was a wedding photo, one of the less grim portraits I’ve ever seen. Everyone seemed to be so serious in formal portraits then, theirs was the exact opposite. Ma looked like she was about to burst out laughing. Dad had this grin on his face that looked half-delirious. She told me later that he was prodding her in the side the whole time and she was trying to keep still. She was ticklish, something I have unfortunately inherited and allowed people to utilize as a weapon against me. The other was a portrait in his Army uniform. Served in the hundred-and-seventh.”

**A:** “Your father served too? You’re a legacy then! Family business.”

**S:** “Sort of? I guess, maybe. America joined the first World War in April of 1917. Dad shipped out in October. They’d been living on the Lower East Side in a pretty decent apartment considering they didn’t have a whole lot of money. Ma couldn’t afford it on her own, especially not being able to work being pregnant. She was diabetic, so it was pretty touch-and-go. A lot of bed-rest, evidently. She had a few friends that helped her find a cheaper place in Brooklyn, over in the DUMBO area. The landlady took it easy on her with the rent, her husband was overseas too.”

**A:** “I assume it was you she was carrying? Did they know when your father left?”

**S:** “I’m not sure. Ma didn’t like to talk about it. I found a letter once, though, from dad. He talked about how things were going to be better when he got home for the three of us. That he’d find work, that they’d never go another night without a full meal and they’d never go another winter without heat, that I’d always have brand new clothes and I’d never have to wear a single hand-me-down. Nothing but the best he could give. There was a list of truly hideous names he’d come up with. I think he was joking. I really can’t imagine being called Thaddeus, no matter how he spelled it.”

**It’s ironic that even supposedly in jest, Joseph Rogers had picked a name that would come to describe his son in sincerity: courageous heart.**

**S:** “He died in a mustard gas attack. Well, not _in_ the attack, but because of the gas. Burned him pretty badly. He actually died from internal bleeding and suffocation. Ma told me when I was older. He had a buddy who came home after the war was over and found her. Gave her a letter he’d tried to dictate while he was in the hospital. He didn’t finish it, he was too weak. His buddy told her about what happened, Army didn’t really give her a lot of specifics beyond that it was the result of a gas attack.”

**A:** “Your parents were young, though. Your mother never thought to remarry? Surely it would have made things easier.”

**S:** “No. For one, dad was the love of her life. They left home together. Two dumb kids without a penny to their names, across an ocean to achieve an impossible dream. There’s a certain amount of devotion that goes with that. But less sort of, romantically, it wasn’t really likely that anyone would have her. She was poor, an immigrant, and a mother to a really sick kid. People want to make their lives easier, not more complicated. She certainly had enough gentlemen asking after her, but she always turned them down. She knew it would be messy and her focus was always on getting me to a better position, not putting me in a spot that would have hindered me.”

**A:** “So, tell me about your mother then. I can’t say I’m not impressed with what little I know.”

_[Rogers smile gets wistful and fond. A black-and-white photograph, yet again from the Smithsonian archives, fills the screen, a family portrait. Sarah Rogers is seated, wearing what are presumably her best dress and a mischievous upturn to her lips. Her ankles are cross demurely and her hands rest softly in her lap. She is elegant and attractive in her plainness. Her carriage and the life in her eyes suggest a vibrant inner life. A young Captain Rogers wears a boxy suit with his hair slicked to the side and a white bow on his arm that suggests the portrait is to commemorate his First Holy Communion. Rogers has a serious expression made comical by his overly large ears. His hand is resting on his mother’s shoulder.]_

**S:** “She was… she was a superhero. There’s no other way to describe her. I know that must sound silly considering the fact that some of my friends are giant green beings of pure force and a god from outer space. But she was. She was my superhero. She was a nurse. Worked long hours, picked up any extra shift she could to make sure that we had a roof over our heads and food in our bellies and _still_ be able to raise me herself rather than pass me off to a neighbor. She made sure that I didn’t have to leave school. Refused to subscribe to the idea that there was anything wrong with me beyond the physical. Back then, people thought that asthma was this psychosomatic thing. They thought that it was an indication that the person sort of had this childlike, underdeveloped mind. The physical symptoms were supposed to be the result of extreme nervous tendencies. There were a lot of people who thought she should send me away, that considering all that was wrong with me, ‘round-the-clock care and observation was the best thing—especially when I started getting into fights. She refused to believe any of it, refused to back down. She knew I was just sickly. She spent enough time caring for people to know when something what a physical issue and something was a mental issue and something was just a cry for help. She was smart, intuitive. Once, this lady at church refused to receive Communion after us. She said that she didn’t want to catch anything I was carrying; she didn’t care how holy that wine was supposed to be. Ma spat in her face and then told me I should never do that. It was awesome.”

_[Rogers’ eyes gleam with childlike delight. He takes another sip from his mug to hide the grin that spreads across his face.]_

**S:** “She never babied me. She always told me things honestly. She knew I needed to know exactly what the world was like if I was going to survive in it. But she was still this incredible force of warmth. She was like someone took sunlight and squashed it down into a human. She was a favorite amongst the patients she cared for, to say the very least, and she was my favorite person in the world.”

**Sarah Rogers introduced her son to literature and art as a way of coping with his many maladies and the simple fact that he was often stuck inside their tiny apartment. For him, it was an escape. The characters in the books gave him—fantasy, history, poetry—became his friends. The scenes in the paintings and drawings he admired became the stuff of daydreams. Even further, the messages he gleaned from it all—that everyone deserves of dignity, that anything is possible, that there is beauty in the world that needs to be protected—became his life philosophy. In many ways, we have Sarah to thank for giving us Captain America.**

**S:** “She taught me a lot. But one of the most important things was that no one should be allowed to be a bully. Not at any level, not the on playground and not the people who were supposed to be leading us. She kept herself informed. Read the papers, engaged in discussion. She had this doctor friend, the one who used to take care of me—and to be honest, I think she might have liked him more than she let on—they were always having these drawn out debates over the state of the city or the nation. She took full advantage of her right to vote. She told me that it was a person’s responsibility to be as proactive as they could even if that was with something as seemingly small as casting a ballot.”

**A:** “How about yourself? We know you were a troublemaker with bad health and a certain doomed complex who avoided relationships. But you said that you were an artist, too.”

**S:** “I had a lot of different jobs to try to help with rent and food and doctor’s bills. I worked as a stock boy at the grocers. I was a newsie—not like the Disney kind, I definitely did not sing and dance. But being an artist was what I felt like I was meant to be. After I graduated from high school I went to the Pratt Institute. They had a school for fine arts. When I left there I had sort of a freelance thing going. It was impossible to get a staff position anywhere; I just didn’t know the right people. But I worked for a couple local papers and companies. Did some political cartoons and drew advertisements. I’d managed to snag some part time work at Timely; they’re, ah, Marvel now. They were Marvel then too, but not officially. I was pretty much a glorified assistant, but I loved it. I filled inkwells, sharpened pencils, and swept, got coffee. But I was where I wanted to be. Right before I enlisted I had finally convinced them to let me try my hand at penciling something. I had half a book finished. They were talking about putting me on staff. It was great.”

**A:** “So why the push to join up then? It sounds like your life was on track. Why derail what you’d worked so hard for?”

**S:** “Because there were men and women laying down their lives. I didn’t think I had any right to do anything less than that. Not that I wanted to die, of course, but I knew my place was in the thick of things I knew I needed to be there.”

**A:** “You carried a notebook with you during the USO tour and out into the field.”

**S:** “I did. Doodling was something to do, keep my mind off of things and stay focused. It was a way to say what I felt without ruffling anyone’s feathers.”

**Rogers is referring, of course, to the pages filled with sketches of performing monkeys in USO costumes, laboratory rats, and exaggerated caricatures of several of his superiors and a senator or two. The notebook itself is held by the Smithsonian with prints of some of the images contained within displayed as part of the exhibit on Captain Rogers. They help support the narrative of Rogers’ war experience as related by his comrades.**

**A:** “And it certainly didn’t hurt your romantic endeavors, did it? I can imagine that most ladies were falling over themselves for the ideal American male with the heart of artist.”

**S:** “Fewer than you’d think, and even fewer that were sincere about it, who actually wanted to know me.”

**A:** “Margaret Carter wanted to know you.”

_[The screen splits. Half is covered with a photograph of a younger Agent Carter. The other is a yellowed page from Rogers’ notebook with small sketches of her facing front and in profile. One is a rough sketch of a woman in pants and boots aiming a rifle.]_

**S:** “She did. She took an interest in me, as a person, well before Erskine gave me the serum. During training, she talked to me. Sat with me at mess sometimes. We talked about books and music and movies. Peggy loved the cinema as much as I did. We talked about qualifying for my firearms and she asked me how exactly I was compensating for my poor eyesight and gave me tips on how to keep my arms steady—when you’re as scrawny as easily tired as I was, those guns were damned heavy! She quizzed me a thousand and one different ways, constantly evaluating the men that had been selected as candidates both physically and mentally. She was my friend.”

**A:** “You were more than that, clearly.”

**S:** “Eventually, yeah. But, I’m certainly not going to kiss and tell. Peggy chose not to discuss the specifics of our relationship in all of the interviews she gave over the years, so I’m not going to either. It’s not really anyone’s business. She’s lived her life, she has a family. It’s not fair to her or them if I start telling everyone what our relationship was like and pining over what could have been.”

**A:** “You can at least tell us what your feelings for her were.”

_[Rogers looks slightly put out. He takes a sip from his mug to give himself time. His eyes slide across the room, presumably to his handlers off-screen.]_

**S:** “I loved her. I was in love with her. We had two years together, but it was also two years in the field. We went weeks and months at a time without being able to see or speak to each other. It wasn’t the whirlwind romance that people like to think it was. We both had responsibilities to fulfill and a much larger picture to think about than the two of us. I cherish what we had. I grieve for what I lost. But I’m so exceedingly happy for her, for the fact that she lived an exciting life full of love.”

**A:** “The day you… woke up. You ran out into Times Square. Spectators said they heard you say that you had a date. Were you talking about her?”

_[Rogers’ jaw tightens. He sets his mug down on the end table beside his phone. He takes a moment to consider.]_

**S:** “Yes, I was. A week next Saturday at the Stork Club. Eight o’clock sharp… After the Tesseract had destroyed Red Skull, I had to figure out what to do with the aircraft. It was on a pre-programmed flight path for New York. If it made it, thousands of people would die. So, I decided it was really only necessary for one person to die. I was still out in the middle of nowhere, if I put it down in the water, I could prevent a lot of loss. The SSR unit was still at the base; they were pulling as much information as they could, destroying whatever was too dangerous, rounding up prisoners. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make contact, I didn’t know how long a range the communications systems on the craft had, but I tried. I managed to connect with the base. Morita answered. I don’t think I’d ever been happier to hear his voice.”

**A:** “But I assume you spoke to Agent Carter?”

_[Rogers glances toward his phone, keeping it in his peripheral vision as if willing it to ring and provide distraction. He reaches out to the side and grasps the mug’s handle, stroking the ceramic slowly with his thumb.]_

**S:** “Yes, I did. She wanted to find me a landing site, send Stark out to pick me up. I knew there was no way. I was ready for it; I’d made up my mind. I wasn’t going to put anyone else at risk. So she talked me through it. We made plans to meet. She was going to teach me to dance. The last thing I remember is her voice. Everything was black after that. I’m not sure for how long. Maybe just a moment.”

**A:** “It was almost seventy years, Captain. That’s a little longer than a moment.”

**S:** “No, I mean after the initial impact. There was ice; I didn’t realize it looking down through the clouds. I thought I was putting her in the water. The impact was hard enough that it stunned me. The windshield was broken in a few places already, so when it hit, it just blew out completely. The ice wasn’t that thick, so the front end started sinking into the water below that. I grabbed my shield because I felt like I needed to and tried to get away from it. I was disoriented; I didn’t know how to get out. But if I left the plane it would just mean freezing to death faster out on the ice if I didn’t fall through it and drown.”

**A:** “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”

**S:** “Yeah, it doesn’t bother me to talk about. I actually haven’t discussed it outside of therapy before, though. Can I finish?”

**A:** “Of course.”

**S:** “I found the exit hatch practically by mistake. But when I ripped it open—the power went down in the crash, all the doors were automatic airlocks—more water came in, knocked me over. I found a compartment; I don’t know what it was supposed to be. I got the door open and managed to get it closed again. I was soaked through to the bone. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be that cold. My body ran pretty warm after the serum, the whole increased metabolism thing.  Some nights, when we were in the field and we hand to spend the night but a fire would give us away, the Howlers would fight over who got to sleep next to me… But, um, yeah. I was cold and wet. I was scared. But what I thought was the funniest part was that I just couldn’t get over how hungry I was. One of the less favorable aspects of having a perfectly efficient body with a stupidly fast metabolism is that I’m just hungry all the time. Like athletes, if I load up on carbs and protein, I’m pretty good. But we hadn’t had much time to stop for a decent meal while we were racing to get to the HYDRA base before they could launch their mission, obviously. So I was starving. I’m not sure how long I could have lasted without food and water. If being in the hospital and being on their diet and their schedule taught me anything, it’s that it wouldn’t have been very long. I dropped a lot of weight while I was in there, lost quite a bit of muscle mass. Once I was able to do more heavy therapy and work out a little bit it came back pretty quickly…”

_[Rogers stares down at his lap for a moment, his brow knitted together. The sound has been edited, but he looks up as if someone has gotten his attention across the room.]_

**S:** “I could deal with the hunger pain. It wasn’t as bad as the pain from the cold. It felt like my body was on fire. My head was pounding. It was hard to breathe. So when I finally went numb it was a relief. I didn’t go unconscious all at once. It was sort of little by little. Like there was darkness creeping in at the edges of my field of vision, my hearing getting muffled. And then everything was just dark and still and I remember being outraged because I wanted to see my Ma and there was just nothing.”

**A:** “And when you… woke?”

**S:** “Classified, unfortunately. But I did know that something wasn’t right. Which is why I ran.”

**A:** “Did you know you were in New York? Things must have looked very different.”

**S:** “I did, actually. At first, I wasn’t sure. But when I got into Times Square, it was pretty obvious. Times Square was pretty brightly lit back when I was young, too. I thought it had gotten a hell of a lot more garish, though. Total sensory overload. Clearly, time had passed. It was just a matter of gathering the concept of just how much.”

**A:** “You mentioned you weren’t getting out much afterward, not really living?”

**S:** “Anxiety. Depression. I want to say culture shock, but not really. I was lonely but I didn’t feel I had anyone to talk to or that anyone was really interested in talking to me. I was grieving. But, when the Avengers formed, things changed. I felt like I had purpose. Like I’d survived for a reason. It felt good to be part of a team again. And that team ultimately became my family. I acknowledged that. I was grateful for that. It was—is—one of the most important things to me. But I was pushing them away at the same time. Still am to some degree. I feel like… Like I did before the serum. That nothing is meant to be lasting for me. Why let yourself get close to people when you know it’s going to end and it’s going to be messy.”

**A:** “And you’re not afraid of that with your girlfriend?”

**S:** “Oddly enough, no. We’ve been through some pretty rough things. I’ve done and said some stupid and inexcusable things. So has she. But, I’ve never felt as comfortable and open with anyone since Bucky. I feel like I can actually be myself around her.

_[A clip of Rogers jogging at what appears to be dawn fills the screen. He is going past the Lincoln Memorial. A figure jogs up beside him, keeping pace. It’s a woman; her hair is tucked up under a baseball cap the shot is from far enough away that her features aren’t clear. Her feet are lime green streaks against the grey pavement beside Rogers’ white sneakers.]_

**Eventually, Captain Rogers and the woman he is involved with agreed to allow us a few moments with her if we agreed to not make her identity public. She cuts an imposing figure; there is an air of standing on a knife’s edge about her. She has a way of speaking with expressions and gestures even when her lips are still. She struck us as intelligent and somewhat unassuming, though not all together humble—there is an undeniable arrogance there. Even considering that impression, she is kind and warm and downright indulgent in her interactions with Rogers and he seems to be completely under her spell. They’re an interesting match.**

**S:** “With her… I don’t know. She understands me when I don’t even really understand myself. My shrink is always asking me what’s going on in my head but she puts her hands on my chest and asks me what’s going on in there?”

**A:** “You’re not afraid she’s just with you because you’re Captain America?”

_[Rogers laughs. The clip transitions to the two runners under the shelter of some trees. The woman is sprawled on the ground. Rogers is standing over her laughing. He pulls her up when she reaches out a hand and his arm circles around her waist to hold her close. Over her shoulder we see Rogers waggle his eyebrows. Her shoulders shake as if in laughter. He snatches her cap off of her head and her hair falls free. Rogers covers their faces with the cap as he leans in.]_

**S:** “Not at all. When we first met, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with me! Avoided me like the plague, which was pretty hard since we frequented the same places, only interacted with me when she had to. We became friends eventually. Things grew from there. Not the most conventional love story, but it’s ours. She challenges me. Keeps me on my toes. Makes me happy—and I hope I make her happy. I think I do.”

**A:** “So, what else makes you happy?”

**S:** “As many problems as I have with depression, you’d think it wasn’t a whole lot, but there is. Baseball, first of all. I haven’t been to a lot games since I got back. I’d love to see the Dodgers play again, even if they are out in Los Angeles now.”

**A:** “They were originally in Brooklyn, right?”

**S:** “Yeah. That was actually what first made me think something was wrong when I woke up. There was a radio in my… _recovery room_. There was a game playing. But it couldn’t have been because I was _there_. I was at that game. Whit Wyatt was pitching. Dodgers and Phillies, May of Forty-One. When I was a kid, baseball was my absolute passion. It was engaging in ways that books and art weren’t necessarily. I knew every statistic there was. Listened to every game I could. When I was older, Bucky and I would save up all of our pocket money for tickets to the games. And that particular game was pretty memorable. The game itself was exciting, always was for me. But we’d taken along Connie—that was Bucky’s girl and man was he crazy for her—and Bucky’s sister Rebecca. Connie had demanded we bring her along and when Bec heard Connie was going she threatened to hold her breath until she had a ticket in her hand. I’d just gotten paid for an ad I drew so after I put in my half of the rent we wound up with enough cash for all of us to go. This big guy flirted with Connie. Bucky had just caught a foul ball in his cap and had passed it down to a kid a few rows in front of us then turned around stared the guy down. Never lifted a finger, just looked at ‘im, and he moved over a few seats and didn’t look at Connie again. Bec and I were sharing crackerjacks and a Coke. I still don’t know how she managed it, but she spilled half the bottle down the front of herself. She’d just finished sewing the dress and she was wearing it out for the first time. She was crushed.”

**A:** “So you don’t follow any of the current New York teams?”

**S:** “Cyclones.”

**A:** “Not going to give a stance on Yankees or Mets?”

**S:** “Absolutely not! That’s not a mess I want to get myself pulled into!”

**A:** “So what else makes you happy, Captain?”

**S:** “Books. Movies. Music. Television. Typical things.”

**A:** “Favorites?”

**S:** “I can’t possibly pick a favorite book or movie, that’s entirely too hard. When we were young, Bucky used to tease that I wasn’t pale from the anemia it was because I spent so much time in the dark at the picture house… Maybe _The Wizard of Oz_ …Or _Snow White_! They used some really innovative animation and coloring techniques in that one… I like a little bit of everything. Same with music—but I do have a lot of Dropkick Murphys on my playlist. TV is easier. I like those true crime and science shows, like _Dateline_ and _Doctor G_. But I reallylike _Walking Dead_ and _Vikings_. Oh! And _In the Flesh_. And it’s just a miniseries, but I liked _Kings._ ”

**A:** “I’m sure everyone wants to know who your favorite characters are.”

**S:** “Glen, Lagertha and Athelstan, Amy Dyer, Jack Benjamin.”

**A:** “What do you do for fun then? Just sit around like a couch potato and watch television and read?”

**S:** “No, no. Not at all. I run. It’s half recreation, half self-care. Clears the head. The surge of endorphins is always pleasant. I still draw. I take an art class too. It was sculpture when I started. I haven’t been able to get there in a while, though. I don’t know if they’ve moved on to something new. I liked soldering things together. Taking smaller pieces and giving them a larger, permanent structure. I made some really good friends there. Sometimes I feel like I’m ancient when I talk to them, especially when they all talk at once. But they’re incredibly patient and they don’t patronize me when I don’t understand something or don’t get a reference. I like to sort of go out and pick a place to sit somewhere. Like in the Village or up at Central Park. I like to people-watch, to sketch what I see. Riding my motorcycle, too. It’s just an incredible feeling, anyone else who rides knows exactly what I’m talking about.”

**A:** “Self-care?”

**S:** “Can’t just rely totally on medication to keep you steady. You have to be actively involved in your own health. At least, that’s what’s true for me. Before I finally opened up enough to be diagnosed accurately, meds really did nothing for me. Then, afterward, sometimes they made things worse. One of the advantages of being Captain America—something that I’m beyond grateful for and that I wish every single person with problems had access to—is that there is this wonderful team of scientists who worked tirelessly to create a medication specifically tailored to deliver the appropriate dosage of the exact ion I need to the right places in my brain as efficiently as possible.”

**A:** “Sounds like you have quite a few people who care about you, or at least have your best interests at heart.”

**S:** “I do. People just sort of keep surprising me that way. I’ve certainly known my share of them who just want to say they’re friendly with Captain America. But for the most part, the people I’ve encountered and gotten close to are truly genuine.”

**That didn’t stop at the people he attended art classes with or the people he works with. Rogers speaks emphatically goodness about the team that he was on that classified mission with and those that cared for him after he was injured. He talks about how patient they were with him, how they helped him work through doubt and frustration, how he felt they bent over backward to accommodate him. At the end of one of the few days we spent with Rogers, he was scheduled for his final physical therapy evaluation. The home-gym at the apartment he is staying in accommodated the session.**

_[Dialogue rolls over images of Rogers being put through his paces by a physical therapist that, like with Rogers’ girlfriend, is only shown from behind or remains just out of frame. He is shown doing general calisthenics and cardio, running, lifting weights, doing balancing exercises, stretching, and practicing every-day movements like standing up and sitting down, climbing stairs, and putting clothing on and off over what he is wearing.]_

**S:** “I feel like I’ve been given a second chance.”

**A:** “By being frozen and waking up in the future?”

**S:** “No, I mean being injured and recovering. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think the absolute worst when I woke up at Walter Reed. I’d been heavily sedated for some time as a precaution. My levels had gone completely haywire as a result; I needed to get back onto schedule with my meds. I was down as it was; even with On—even with my girlfriend there to support me, and with people from SHIELD I’ve grown close to. I felt like it was the end. Not that I was going to die, or that I wanted to die. I thought that it would be the end of my life, as I’d come to know it. They gave me the diagnosis of a spinal injury and paralysis… I knew full well what that meant. It was a wheelchair. It was needing help all the time. It was relearning how to live. Heck, it was ripping me out of my home! There’s no elevator in my building, even if I used the service entrance around the back, and I’m pretty damned sure the doorways wouldn’t be accommodating. I had to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t be able to really _be_ Captain America anymore either—at least not actively, not in the field. I wasn’t going into battle any time soon. I felt like I’d lost my purpose.”

**A:** “But clearly you’ve recovered.”

**S:** “Yes, I have. I’ve been given a tremendous gift. Thanks to the serum and some other very important factors: A month of really aggressive therapy, seriously dedicated doctors, support from the people I love and from new friends, a lot of meditation and prayer when I was alone… I’ve recovered in more ways than just physically. It’s ongoing.”

**A:** “Was it obvious that you were going to recover physically from the start?”

**S:** “No, not immediately. It didn’t become a realistic possibility until one day I was able to detect a change in temperature against my skin. We were doing hydrotherapy—exercising in a pool to take stress off of my body—it was cold, or cool at least. I had a panic attack. I never thought I’d actually be happy about having a panic attack.”

**A:** “So now that you have this new lease on life, what do you plan to do with yourself?”

**S:** “Well, getting back to work, first off. I’m kind of antsy to get back into the office and get my teeth back into the mission, so to speak. But, I’m excited to be getting ready to do things for myself, too.”

**A:** “How very selfish of you!”

**S:** “I know. I’m terrible. Take my shield! I’m not worthy! In all seriousness, though… I’m excited to head back to college. It’s been in the works for a while now. I’ve been terrified. I mean, I’m not an old man—in spite of my age. I’m still just a guy pushing thirty. I didn’t suddenly become senile when they thawed me out. My body and mind were preserved just the same… but if hanging out with the people from my neighborhood or my art class is any indication, the experience is definitely going to be a challenge. They’re young people in a world that’s pretty different than the world I was young in. But I’m excited.”

**A:** “What are you going to school for?”

**S:** “I want to finish a higher degree. Learn new things, new mediums and techniques. I just want to be immersed in art again. It had been the first time I felt really alive. The first time I knew I’d found my calling. Like you said, my life was on track.”

**A:** “Going to call up Marvel and get your old job back?”

_[Rogers laughs heartily. The image changes to one of him, alone, walking through the National World War II Memorial. It appears that the evening is chilly in spite of the summer. Rogers wears a brown leather jacket and long pants. He moves slowly, methodically, before pausing in front of the pillar that is inscribed with NEW YORK. He bows his head.]_

**Taking our leave of Captain Rogers, we feel almost as if we have more questions than we came with. He’s far more than just a solider; in fact, he’s far more than the icon that he’s become. His personality is complex. He’s a man with secrets. We get the impression that we will never know his entire story. It comes in bits and pieces. He speaks until he realizes that people are listening.**

_[The shot pans out. Rogers walks through the memorial toward the exit, he moves hesitantly past the wall of stars, its reflection like a galaxy in the pool below. He nods and moves on, head up and eyes forward. The image changes back to Rogers sitting down at interview.]_

**As many secrets as he seems to hold, he presents himself as an open book and with conventional tastes. He likes his coffee black, his pizza thin, his roller coasters fast, and his mattress firm. He enjoys snow in the winter and lying out in the summer sun. Though his eyes tell the story of an old soul, a man wise beyond his years, his spirit is one of youth and exuberance for life.**

**S:** “It’s tempting to want to live in the past. It’s familiar. It’s comfortable. But it’s where fossils come from. My job is to make tomorrow’s world better. Always has been. Once, long ago, I asked Bucky what purpose Captain America served outside of combat. It was a foolish question. There’ll always be something to fight for. And I’ll always be a soldier.”

_[Rogers runs his fingers though his hair. His mouth turns up on one side and his eyes slide to make contact with someone off screen before returning to his interviewer.]_

**S:** “The last night Bucky and I spent together before he shipped out, I asked him where we were going. He said, ‘The future.’ Well, here I am.”

_[Rogers shrugs, the gesture non-committal and resolute at once. The image fades.]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Pratt Institute is a real college located in the Clinton Hill section of Brooklyn. It was founded well before the turn of the century and offered degrees in things like engineering, architecture, and fine arts at the time Steve would have attended. More recently, people like Betsy Johnson have been educated there. I'm not 100% sure if their art degree at the time was a 4 year bachelors or not. For the sake of simplicity I'm saying it was.
> 
> I know I've explained about the whole asthma thing in other places in my fics. If you need clarification please shoot me a message on tumblr or leave a comment here.
> 
> Timely was Marvel's original name when they started publishing well before WWII. Steve, in canon, was a comic book writer and artist.
> 
> The game that I've used in my other fics as the one that Steve wakes up hearing is the one from May 25th, 1941. And yes, I did look up the stats! Dodgers beat the Phillies 8/4 and yes, Whit Wyatt was pitching on the starting lineup!
> 
> The Brooklyn Cyclones are a minor-league team that plays at MCU Park (ha! MCU) near the Coney Island boardwalk. They're affiliated with the NY Mets. They're pretty good too! They've won seven division titles over their history.
> 
> Steve's second to last bit of dialogue comes straight from _Captain America: Man out of Time, Vol. 1 #5_. Cap goes out to the Grand Canyon and sketches a picture of Bucky then holds it out so Bucky can see the Canyon, too. (I'm not crying, you're crying!)
> 
> _In the Flesh_ fans will recognize the poem from Amy Dyer's gravestone. _Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night_ was published by Dylan Thomas in 1951 for/about his dying father.
> 
> And the innovative techniques on _Snow White_ included using real blush on the cheeks of the characters. The female artists came up with the idea and they painted each cell individually. The whole story is actually pretty interesting.
> 
> As ever, I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading and for the feedback!


	84. Mixed Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's reactions to the interview, Steve's reaction to it, and some sickeningly sweet fluff.

The program ended. The screen switched from the final images of Steve to Andrew Bernard and the gentleman who normally hosted that hour of the news sitting across from each other at the sleek looking news desk. Steve’s portrait was suspended between them on the screen behind the pair, the title of the program superimposed across his shoulders at the bottom of the frame.

_**THE ELUSIVE STEVE ROGERS** _

_**BERNARD ON CAP** _

The subtitle at the bottom of the television screen, just above the scrolling headline ticker, screamed out at him. The host’s mouth was moving; Bernard was smiling unobtrusively and his shoulders bounced in quiet laughter. Steve couldn’t hear a thing they were saying.

Onheil’s fingers were cool against his cheek. It brought his attention to how tightly his jaw was clenched. His breath was rattling out of his flared nostrils. Onheil was looking up at him from her place tucked against his side.

“Steve?” She reached up and took his beer bottle from his hand dangling over her shoulder without looking. “What’s wrong?”

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find the right words. He could feel the others looking at him, pretending their attention was on the television.

“I… they…” He put his hand out, gesturing toward the screen. “What the hell was that?”

Rhodey leaned forward in his seat to look at Steve straight on, “Steve, man, that was really good!” His thousand-watt smile was sincere. “It was _you._ ”

“No… no it wasn’t. I… I didn’t agree to this.”

“Cap, you did. You had final approval every step of the way, we made sure of that.” Maria’s face was smooth and neutral. Her Commander face.

Why didn’t anyone refer to her by her proper title?

Commander Hill.

Not just agent.

And she never said anything.

She never corrected people or ruffled feathers. She just smiled and responded and did her job.

Did it hurt to not be afforded the dignity of her position? The respect for the things that she had done and continued to do to earn that position?

“No. This is not what they told me was going to air. This was… this was… fluff! And propaganda! And… complete bullshit! They… they made me look like a nostalgic idiot. And quite honestly, ridiculously self-involved.” Eyebrows shot up around the room. Natasha wet her lips with her tongue. Tony squirmed uncomfortably. Barton slipped his left foot in and out of his sneaker. Coulson quietly placed the empty popcorn bowl down on the floor.

The program had been just an hour. He had understood that cuts were going to be made in the interest of time, but they had cut an _hour_ of material. More than that if you took the commercial breaks into consideration and there had been plenty of those.

“Steve, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, Tony, it was.” Pepper put her hand on Tony’s knee. “Working at Stark for as long as I have, dealing with you being in the news and the tabloids every other day—I know how to work angles. They were working an angle.” She leaned forward a bit. “Maria, SHIELD did have anything to do with this, did they?”

Maria frowned and shook her head. “Phil and I kept things in check during negotiations and on-site. After that it was out of our hands. And Fury wouldn’t have touched it.”

“You sure about that?” Steve could taste the bitterness in his tone remembering his first few phone conversations with the Director after he woke up at Walter Reed. He knew the knee-jerk reaction was at least a little unreasonable. Bernard and the host continued to chat in the background. Steve withdrew his arm and stood, patting himself down. “Where’s my phone?”

“What do you need your phone for?” Onheil was already walking out of the room, presumably to get the device from his messenger bag in the living room.

Steve pointed at the screen as Onheil reappeared. “I need it to call _that_ prick.” She held out both his SHIELD and personal phones to him. He hesitated for a moment before he grabbed the government-issued phone, knowing Bernard would recognize the number. Steve mashed at the buttons with his thumbs and dialed the number from the note that came with the disc as clear in his memory as if he’d just looked at it.

“Steve, he—“

“No, Phil. I’m not just going to lie back and let myself be used anymore. I’m done. They sent me a DVD. I saw the whole thing in advance. They hand delivered it to me. _That_ was what I approved of and believed would be aired. Not this crap.” He watched the screen carefully.

Bernard’s face visibly blanched for a second and he composed himself again just as quickly. He picked up his hand to gesture and then put it back down in his lap for a moment before it settled on the desktop in front of him again. The ringing on Steve’s end of the line ended and an electronic woman directed him to Bernard’s voicemail. He’d clearly had the phone in his pocket and had pressed the ignore button.

“I trusted you.” Steve ended the call and fell back against the back of the couch feeling completely deflated. Tony mumbled something and JARVIS answered in his smooth accent before changing the channel. A canned laugh track played over some sitcom rerun. “I’m sorry. I just ruined the whole evening, didn’t I? I used to be good at this whole… smile for the cameras and play the part thing.”

A piece of popcorn nailed Steve in the side of the head. “Hey. Don’t worry about it.” Rhodey tossed another piece of popcorn. Barton stuck his face in the way and caught it in his mouth. He smiled smugly to himself and sat back again. “Tony’s had way worse nationally-televised fuck-ups. And this wasn’t on you… and really, I’m sorry Pep, from the average viewer’s perspective? It wasn’t bad. Really interesting, to be honest. Never knew that stuff about your parents.”

Steve smiled weakly.

“Hey! How about we all go downstairs? Rhodey can model the body armor I’ve been working on. He’s going with me to present it to Secretary Pierce next week, see if we can get some government funding to start getting these babies into production and out into the field.”

“Rhodey is going with you?” Onheil’s voice was low and even.

“Yeah, of course. He’s much better with stuffy government types than I am. He’ll charm the pants of Pierce and look completely fabulous in the suit.”

They piled into the elevator and traveled down to the R&D lab. Tony continued to chatter about how he’d tweaked the original design after it became clear that something more flexible but equally as impact-absorbent was what would work best. Pepper kept clearing her throat. The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood up. Natasha smoothed down hair that looked vaguely like she’d rubbed a balloon against the side of her head. Barton and Coulson looked over their shoulders.

Steve squeezed Onheil’s hand, trying to reassure her. She squeezed back. The tension ran out of the air. Maria’s shoulders relaxed.

“Tony!”

“What?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He gave Pepper what Steve could only assume was his standard deer-in-headlights look when he got too deep into some project and stopped seeing the world around him. “Onheil helped design and test all of the initial prototypes. You even had her on video calls while she was down in DC.”

“Oh. Yeah. Absolutely. When she was here after we got back. Somewhere in there she blew a goddamned crater in my floor, too.” The corners of Onheil’s mouth turned up wickedly, her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you think _she_ should be presenting this to Pierce with you?”

“I… She…”

Onheil’s arms folded, her expression haughty and satisfied. Rhodey suppressed his laughter as he disappeared to change into the suit.

“Yeah, of course.”

Maria leaned back against one of the worktables. “She’s also actually _met_ Pierce, which I don’t think either of you have.”

“Personally!” Rhodey called out from wherever he’d gone off to, “I vote she comes!”

Onheil leaned into Steve’s side when Rhodey reappeared. Steve wrapped his arm around her waist, ready to comfort her or hold her back, whatever need rose. She surveyed Rhodey as he turned around, looking very much like he’d been painted silver all over, just his bare feet and hands showing with his neck and head. The suit left very little to the imagination.

“Looks good. Very good. Is it what we talked about?”

“Combines the best qualities of vibranium and Kevlar. Breathes. Moves. Protects.” Onheil’s eyes sparkled with something that looked very much like glee. “Little bit of nano-tech.”

“Have you tested it yet?”

“Of course.”

“Probably one of the stupider things I’ve ever witnessed, but I was pretty impressed with the results. You guys did a really good job.” Pepper grinned.

Maria and Coulson were allowed to leave later on in the evening with the promise they wouldn’t bring the new suit immediately to Fury’s attention. Rhodey wanted to give the average military guy a chance to wear one before SHIELD commandeered the design. Everyone seemed impressed. Onheil’s beaming, probably the first real happiness he’d seen on her in a long time, lifted Steve’s sour mood.

The clock was tipping toward midnight when Pepper wished Steve and Onheil a good night and headed for bed. Everyone else had gone. They’d spent the rest of their time together finishing cold pizza and drowning themselves in coffee in attempt to stay awake for subway and cab rides home. Rhodey slipped away to the guest floor. Coulson and Maria slipped into Lola’s front seat and took off on autopilot from Stark’s garage.

“Did you have it detailed?” Tony nodded; he’d done it himself. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

Tony waved him off. “Consider it a birthday present. Clean, mean, and a fresh tank to get you going.” He stretched up to retrieve their helmets from the shelf the bike was parked under. Steve took his and frowned. It looked exactly the same, but it was lighter, somehow. “I may have played with some Iron Man armor.” Steve chuckled and shook his head before slipping the helmet on. It felt good. He slipped it off to speak unimpeded. Onheil put hers on and knocked Stark good-naturedly in the shoulder before sliding onto the seat.

“Thank you. Really, you shouldn’t have done anything. You let me live at your place. You let Onheil stay down there.”

“It’s nothing. You do what you have to for family. And the helmets were just a boredom project, really.”

It felt good to have Onheil’s arms wrapped around his waist. Her fingers hooked together over his abdomen. Her body pressed to his.

It felt good to have the summer night’s air over the East River whipping past as he sped across the Brooklyn Bridge and thanked God that they weren’t pulled over and ticketed. He slowed down to quiet the engine as much as he could as he pulled into their neighborhood.

Onheil gingerly slipped off the back of the motorcycle, shaking out her legs while she took off her helmet. “You go park that thing. I’ll meet you back at your place?” Steve nodded and she pressed her lips jokingly to the side of his helmet where his cheek would be before bounding up the stairs to her front door with her own tucked under her arm. She was sitting on his front stoop waiting for him when he walked back from the parking structure a few blocks away.

She looked like something out of one of his teenage fantasies. Her cloud of black hair was loose around her shoulders. Her tee-shirt skimmed her biceps gently. Long pale legs stretched for days out of the bottom of her high-waisted shorts. He knelt down to tie her loose shoelace and grinned up at her. She was wearing the sneakers he’d given her. She did that more and more often, he noticed. The boots seemed less affixed to her feet. She looked more… comfortable. “C’mon.” She snatched her foot back and went up the steps, Steve falling in behind her. They went through the wordless motions of opening the door and climbing the few flights of stairs to his floor. He eyed the package tucked under her arm curiously, Dr. Carter’s name and address on the shipping label on the side of the box.

“I completely forgot to give this to you.” She set the box down onto the table and plunked down on the couch, dropping her backpack on the floor.

“What is it?”

“Part two.” The last time she had gotten a mysterious package, it had been full of frothy underwear and soft, satin girdles and buttery smooth stockings. The Amazon logo on the outside of the box gave him little clue as to what was in it. Although, it did appear to have been opened and resealed. “I had it delivered to Drew. I wasn’t sure when we’d finally get home. She made sure everything was in there for me.” She frowned, “I suppose I should have wrapped it. It doesn’t look like much of a present.”

Steve shook his head and sat down to use his keys to slice into the tape. “I don’t care that it’s not wrapped up. You didn’t need to get me anything at all.” He opened the flaps and moved the packing material away. “Wow. Onheil, you… you really didn’t have to do this.” He’d looked into drawing tablets himself at some point, curious about it and eager to try out a new technique. He knew this was one of the better ones.

“I didn’t _have_ to. I wanted to.” He placed the box down and gathered her into a tight hug. “I’m assuming that means you like it?” Her voice was strained to a comical extent. She squirmed in his arms.

“I love it.” He kissed her and she yielded to him, soft and syrupy-sweet under his lips. “I love you.” She smiled and pecked at his lips again. Her cheeks looked flushed and rosy in the soft lamplight, the bright green of her eyes dark. “We’ve never celebrated your birthday. I know it’s in April, but—“

“I don’t celebrate birthdays.” He wondered fleetingly if it was a religious thing. She didn’t seem to subscribe to any particular faith. Unless you counted unabashed self-worship.

“Why not?”

She shrugged, kissed him lightly for a few moments. “Because there are so many. It just seems tedious.”

“You’re such a pessimist.” She rolled her eyes at him and pulled his arm more securely around her shoulders. “I overreacted, didn’t I?”

She paused in her meticulous pattern of bites against the side of his neck and craned her head back to look at him. “You did. But I understand why.”

“I should apologize to everybody.” She nodded, said he could do it without making a production of it. “I should call Bernard back, apologize to him.”

She put a finger against his lips. “Absolutely not. He doesn’t deserve any sympathy. He let you trust him and he screwed you over. Let him stew in it.” She shrugged and settled her head against his shoulder. He skimmed his fingers up over the side of her bare leg, raising goose flesh. “If it was me, I would have gone to the office and flayed him.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would.” She sighed and leaned her head back into the crook of his arm. “Go into the bedroom and take off all your clothes.”

“I’m not really in the mood, Onheil.”

“Did I say anything about being in the mood?” She poked her index finger roughly at his chest and shoulder. “You’re all… tense. And knotty.” She freed herself from his embrace and pointed toward the dark hallway. “Do as I say.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled as he traipsed off toward his room.

***

Loki waited a beat to regain some seriousness. It was always at least slightly entertaining when Steve resorted to acting like a large, sulky child—very specifically when it wasn’t so much the result of extreme pig headedness. She strolled into his bathroom to raid the cabinet. She could hear him mumbling to himself down the short hall, simultaneously self-deprecating and huffing about being ordered around in his own home. Those were the moments when she was sure that the Steve that existed before the serum was an absolute nightmare to live with. Praise Barnes for tolerating him. Praise that boy’s poor mother.

Loki, on the other hand, was an absolute _delight_. She smirked at herself in the mirror and opened the door.

She scanned the shelves and grabbed very innocuous looking moisturizer and went to join him in the bedroom.

Steve was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched forward with his chin balanced on his fists. “I don’t understand why I had to get naked.” He narrowed his eyes at the object in her hands but didn’t question it. “I’m really not in the mood.”

“We’ve been over this, already, Captain darling.” She put the lotion down on the dresser and put her hands on her hips. “Lie down.” He flopped onto his back. She rolled her eyes. “On your stomach.” His ears turned bright red. “And relax.”

“That is the worst way to get someone to relax, Onheil.” He crawled up toward the pillows, obeying regardless.

***

She started at his feet. He jumped at the cool sensation of the lotion touching his skin. He felt his legs tense involuntarily, caught between finding her probing thumbs painful and not. He did relax when her fingers started pressing into the muscles in his calves. He melted into the mattress when she reached the top of his right thigh and then started again from his left knee.

“Aren’t we vocal?”

Steve was having a hard time making his brain connect properly to his mouth but his mouth wasn’t having any trouble working on its own.

“Relaxed?”

“Yes.”

He felt the mattress dip slightly under her weight. He felt her legs on either side of his body. His skin prickled and crawled, hypersensitive under her touch. He felt the rough texture of her denim shorts against his skin. Funny, he thought the bright green fabric would have been smoother.

“Are you sitting on my ass?” He moaned openly when her fingers probed his shoulders.

“I am. It’s quite a comfortable seat. Now I can see why those long rides on your bike don’t bother you. There could be a little more of it though. I believe there was mention of you skipping _leg day_.”

“I don’t skip leg day,” he argued into his pillow. “I’m just— _unghh_ —built this way.” She scooted back; probing lower into his flanks and back up into his shoulder blades. “I can’t tell if you were the bad influence on Bennett or he was the bad influence on you.” He drifted, relaxing in spite of himself.

***

“An’ then they ‘ad the _feckin’_ nerve ta say that they’d cut me off if I didn’ do it. I’ve got m’own goddamned money _thankyaverymuch_.”

It was hot and lazy and humid. September was just outright refusing to give in to autumn. Steve had started his second year of art school.

Kate and Steve had been seeing each other casually on and off for some time. She and her brother had put together enough money to rent the top floor of a nice brownstone in one of the more developed sections of the borough. It was nice. No paper-thin walls. No spotty heat or hot water. A full bathroom with a tub instead of a water closet and a tub in the kitchen.

They even had a phone. It was a party line, but they had their own that rang inside the apartment rather than one receiver in the hallway for the whole building.

“Ya’ve gotta stop spendin’ so many hours hunched ov’r in front-ah that easel at school, Steve.” She was at least a little tipsy, her Brooklyn drawl accentuated with it. There was an opened bottle of peach schnapps on the kitchen counter when he arrived. She’d alluded to her parents having tried again to push her into marriage. She’d called him over to sit and draw while she vented.

“I can’t really help the hunchin’, Katey-Kat.” Steve looked over her shoulder at the girl, his lips turned up on one side.

“Does it really hurt?” He nodded and she came to sit on the bed beside him. She took the sketchpad and nub of charcoal out of his hands and traded them for a tall glass of water. He gulped it down; wondering vaguely if the water would hit his stomach faster than the bead of sweat could race from his hairline to drop off his jaw.

Kate looked good in her tap pants and camisole. She was all soft lines and curves and she looked damned good on paper. She’d been fed well and it showed. She didn’t have the same sharp quality that so many of the girls he’d grown up with did. Her bright orangey-red curls looked as though they were fighting to break out of the network of hairpins that held them close to her skull.

“Does anythin’ make it feel bettah?”

Steve shrugged and placed his empty glass down on the cover of his sketchbook. The mattress dipped under Kate’s weight as she moved around him. She knelt behind him; her knees splayed on either side of his hips, arms snaking around his waist. Her lips peppered kisses across his shoulders.

“My ma use’ta rub my back a lot. Make me take a lotta hot baths.”

Kate unwound her arms and scooted back. Steve made a perfectly undignified sound when she started to probe at the knots in his back with her fingers, following the improper curve of his spine. “Is that bad?” Her hands froze. “Did I hurt’cha?”

Steve let his chin drop down onto his chest, his limp hair, heavy with sweat, blocked out the fading rays of light from the setting sun. “No, no…” His voice was breathy and low. “That’s really good, actually.” She resumed her ministrations, pausing irregularly to press kisses behind his ears and on the side of his neck.

“I found some’un who’d let me use their d’ahk room.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I won’t have’ta ask fer some’un else to develop my photos. I bet I’kin figure out an interestin’ way to use that film ya bought me.”

“Hey, Kitten.” Steve twisted in her arms to kiss Kate’s rosy lips. “How ‘bout we use _this_ dark room first?”

“Quick, though. Carrol should be home soon.”

***

Loki moved carefully down Steve’s back, trying her best to undo each knot as she came to it. She hovered over his lower back.

“Please be careful.” His voice was soft and sleepy-sounding. She was amazed at how the ugly wound in his back had healed. If she didn’t know there had been a defect, hadn’t seen it, she’d never know anything was amiss. She probed gently, more caressing than anything else, and felt the last bits of tension in him melt away. “C’mere.”

Steve twisted onto his side and stuck an arm out for Loki to slide under. “You didn’t like it?”

“Mm. I liked it too much. I’m gonna fall asleep if you keep going.”

“You should sleep.” She let him wrap his limbs around her. He was radiating warmth, an odd feeling in the climate-controlled apartment. “You only have a few hours before SHIELD will be beckoning.”

“Nope.” He nestled his face into her hair. “I’m takin’ the day. Fury said I should take a few to get my bearings back. I wasn’t going to. But after tonight? I’m takin’ the day.”

“Good. Because I’m spending the night.”

“I thought you wanted space.”

“I’m fickle.”

“I’m beginning to think there’s a picture of you in the dictionary instead of a definition for that word.” He rolled away and squinted down the length of her. “Do you want to borrow some pajamas?”

Loki frowned and looked down at herself. “Not really.” She scooted off the bed and stripped out of her clothes.

“You have all that nice underwear and you never wear it.” She shrugged and climbed back into bed.

Steve had been groaning softly and alternately clutching Loki tightly and pushing her away. She considered going out to sleep on the couch but she’d be damned if she let him kick her out of bed after she’d been so doting and treated him so nicely. Somewhere along the line, she’d managed to fall asleep.

Loki wrenched her eyes open when the buzzer on the alarm clock went off. “I thought you were taking the day off.” Steve reached an arm out blindly, squishing her as he leaned over her, and smacked the top of the clock.

“I am.” He flopped back over and popped one eye open to look at her. “Want to go for a run?”

“I suppose.” He grinned and sprang out of bed.

***

He kept an easy pace. Didn’t push too hard. Didn’t go too fast. Just enjoyed the steady pound of his feet against the pavement as it vibrated up through his legs and back. The noise of beginning-of-the-work-week traffic fell away. The world was just Steve and Onheil and the sidewalk. He finally felt like he was home.

They strolled into the coffee shop just as the manager was settling himself behind the counter. “Captain Rogers! You’re home! Caught you on _World News_ last night. Really cool, man. Really cool. They don’t teach that stuff in the history books.” Onheil stepped around Steve to lean casually against the counter. “Well, hello there, Miss _I’m not going to bother to call and say how long I’ll be away or that I’ve arrived back in the neighborhood._ ”

“Hello to you too.” She laughed his gentle ribbing off.

“I have to tell you something. You’re not going to like it and I really don’t like having to do it. I had to give your job away, Onheil.” The coloring drained from her face. She stood up straight. The muscles in her jaw worked in minute jumps. “I couldn’t deal with the disappearing anymore. I need someone who is going to be here and work hard.”

“I do work hard.”

“Yeah, you did. But you’re hardly ever here anymore. You just took over a month off completely unannounced. I can’t deal with those awful temps that SHIELD hooks me up with anymore—yes, don’t look at me like that, I know you started working for SHIELD, El.”

“I’m sorry. I—“

“It’s fine.”

“Can I… can I come back?”

“I don’t have room for you in the schedule. I’ll, um, I’ll keep you in mind if I need someone to fill in though.” He turned away to pour coffee into a paper cup and slide it across the counter to Steve, waving his hand away when Steve tried to hand money over. “I’d think you wouldn’t need this place anyway. Nice super secret spy gig like that must pay well.”

Steve laughed, trying to break the tension. “It doesn’t really. I couldn’t afford my apartment if I didn’t have my back pay from the army. Government grunts don’t make much. Great dental, though.”

Onheil offered up a wet smile, “I liked it here.”

Steve cleared his throat, “We, ah, we’ve got super secret spy things to do.” Onheil’s face smoothed out into the mask she wore when she pretended nothing was wrong. She flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and slipped her hands into the pockets of her borrowed shorts.

“Yup. Super secret spy things. Nice to see you.” The smile she cast on him was radiant. “See you later.”

Back at the apartment, Steve set the coffee down on the kitchen counter. It felt awkward to drink it after Onheil was fired. “Drink it, Steve. It’s not a big deal.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t really feel like coffee.” He tossed a cold bottle of Gatorade from the fridge in her direction and opened one for himself. “Too hot for that.”

They stood in the kitchen, sipping in silence for several minutes. “Captain darling.”

“Lovebug.”

“Can we just… can we just stay in bed the rest of the day? Eat something.” Her stomach growled as if on cue. “And then get in bed and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

“Onheil, we talked about this—or, I tried to talk about it and you ignored me. We can’t—“

“I don’t want to have sex because I’m upset.” She drained the rest of her drink and chucked the bottle into the recycling bin under the sink. “This isn’t because I just got fired. I saw that coming, to be honest.”

Steve frowned, “Can I at least shower first? I’m all sweaty and gross.”

Onheil pressed the length of herself to him. “I like you all sweaty and gross.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “And scruffy.”

He laughed and pushed her away gently. “You’ve got to make up your mind on that one. You love the beard, you hate the beard. You like the scruff, you don’t.”

“Fickle, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot going on here. Next chapter is going to be full of sex and I regret nothing. This was really just to get them there.
> 
> As ever, thank you.


	85. A Day (Mostly) in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. Marathon sex and not much more.

“So, clarify the order we’re doing things in?” Steve herded Loki against the counter, the wickedness of his smile rivaling her own. His unexpectedly ready cooperation and enthusiasm pleased her.

“Eat something. Then bed. All day. No interruptions.”

“Mhm. Eat something.” His hands slipped around her waist, fingers edging into the waistband of the shiny nylon shorts he’d loaned her. She drew in a surprised breath when he gripped her backside to lift her, pushing the shorts down with the motion. She shivered at the sensation of bare skin against the cool countertop. The smooth fabric slid down easily over her legs and he moved to stand between them. “What do you feel like eating?” Loki shrugged, wanting to see how far Steve would take the game. His hands came to rest on her thighs, thumbs working back and forth in the crease where leg joined body. “I went to the market early yesterday morning, I have plenty to choose from.”

“Surprise me.”

Steve reached toward the breadbox on the counter. Loki listened to the _swish_ of the wooden door opening and sliding back, the _crinkle_ and _squeak_ as Steve popped open a plastic blister package one-handed and blindly, his gaze not breaking with hers. She opened her mouth for the morsel of blueberry muffin he brought to her lips.

He pushed her legs wider, bumping his hips gently side-to-side against her knees. She sucked at the sticky crumbs on the fingers that fed her while the others teased between her legs. Pulse and conscious thought rushed downward, her lips throbbing in sympathy with her steadily faster pounding heart.

“Good?”

“Delicious.” She leaned back, head bumping lightly against the cabinet behind her.

Muffin gone, he busied himself with his mouth against hers. “Mm. Sweet.” His thumb grazed against her clitoris as he brought his hand up. He slid his index finger into his mouth. “Sweeter.”

“ _Steve._ ” Loki shrieked in surprise and amusement when she found herself swept off the counter and practically swung across the kitchen, her knees clenched around his hips. He laid her down on the kitchen table and sat down hard in the chair in front of her. She laughed when he yanked her toward him, her backside sliding to the edge of the table. He settled her knees over his shoulders and she laid back, the treads on the bottom of her sneakers catching against the back of the chair. His hands caressed her legs, sliding up under her tee shirt and pressing pleasantly into her abdomen and sides. A thousand jokes about this not being the breakfast she’d intended sprang to mind, but the first swipe of his tongue stilled her own. He worked quietly and methodically for several minutes, the silence of the apartment around them broken only by Loki’s occasional pleased vocalizations.

That was until she noticed the steady rhythm that Steve’s shoulder moved under her leg in. Up and down and up and down.

She groped blindly, eyes squeezed shut as if that would hold in the warmth and pressure mounting between her legs, to thread her fingers into his hair, trying to say with her hands what her mouth refused to. He groaned and let out a rush of hot breath. His shoulder bounced faster.

“Don’t.” Loki propped herself upon her elbows and peer down at him. She drew in a sharp breath when he pulled his lips away and looked up at her in innocent confusion. “Don’t finish.” He started to sit back, brow furrowed, hand still wrapped around his cock just out of her field of view. She grabbed a hank of his hair. “I didn’t say stop. I said don’t finish.” He continued with his confused expression as she pulled him back down toward her sex. A lazy smile spread across her lips when he resumed his lingual gymnastics.

His shoulder started bouncing again.

Up and down and up and down.

“ _No._ ” His eyes searched her face silently for an answer. He seemed to have learned his lesson about stopping.

Steve lifted his face to take a breath. His shoulder stopped. His lips formed a surprised and knowing _O_. Both hands appeared on the tabletop. Loki eased down from her elbows and threaded her fingers into his.

***

It didn’t take long after that. Steve imagined he was seeing the scene while he stood in the living room, watching through the pass-through window.

_Don’t come. Christ, Rogers, don’t come. She told you not to._

Onheil’s hips tipped down, her back arching up. The heels of her sneakers dug into his shoulder blades while her fingernails dug bright-white half moons into his knuckles. Every bit of her tightened, like someone was winding a key in her back and coiling her springs as far as they would go.

He worked one of his hands free and let his fingers slide down the inside of her thigh. He probed gently and slid two of them inside, crooking them up. He grinned to himself when she opened her mouth in a silent shout. Everything was slick and wet and warm. Her thighs turned to stone. Her muscles clenched and fluttered erratically around his fingers.

_Don’t._

She relaxed, flinging an arm across her face and letting out a breathy little laugh. “Still hungry?” His stomach growled in response. If he could focus on the empty ache in his stomach, he could continue to ignore his erection. He thought so, at least. Onheil’s fingers shook slightly when she unlaced them from his. She made a beckoning motion with a flick of her wrist. The package of muffins skidded along the countertop and hit the floor. At least it was closed. “Nope. Can’t focus. Fend for yourself, Captain darling.”

Steve chuckled and eased her legs off of his shoulders. He took getting up to retrieve the package off the floor as an opportunity to tuck himself away. He blushed in spite of himself, his softened cock still standing out against his shorts. He took a deep breath and washed his hands haphazardly before picking the package up. Onheil was sitting up on the table, her face flushed, her breath still audible and quick while she watched him. He resumed his seat, muffin in hand. She swung her leg back and forth beside him, watching him closely. He laughed, unnerved by it. “What?”

She pulled the hem of her tee shirt down in front of herself. “You’re fairly sufficient at that.”

“Only fairly sufficient?”

She stopped him from popping another piece of muffin into his mouth. “I require your full attention. Unless I give you permission otherwise, of course.” Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the comment and the haughty look on her face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her lips curled upward, reminding him of the Grinch. She allowed him to have his hand back. Her other leg began to swing in tandem with the other. She watched him eat for a few minutes, pulling faces, trying to make him laugh. She pulled her sneakers off without untying them, dropping them carelessly on the floor to either side. “Bed next.” Steve made a show of brushing crumbs off his hands, ignoring—or trying to—the foot that had found its way to his lap and the toes that were rubbing back and forth against him over his shorts. “Satiated?”

“For now.” He looked at the non-existent watch on his wrist. “Probably be hungry again in an hour.”

Onheil made a faraway, amused sound. “Then we shall have to use the hour well.” She swung her leg over him and hopped down off the table. He watched in disbelief as she went, the hem of her tee shirt just barely concealing her behind. She was rifling through his dresser drawer when he got to the bedroom. Taking a moment to compose himself had seemed like an intelligent idea. She smirked at him, bold and nude and smelling of blueberries and salt and sex. “Clothes off.” Steve shook his head when she produced the square-wrapped condom from the box in the drawer.

She said she wasn’t upset.

Steve also wasn’t dumb. He’d gotten good at measuring her level of cheerfulness and ability to avoid things against how bothered she was by something. He let out his breath in a _whoosh_ when she palmed his crotch. She ducked her head to look up at him through her eyelashes. “Doesn’t this need attention?” Whether his rational mind was clouded or not, he wasn’t entirely sure, but he decided that getting in bed and fulfilling Onheil’s requests were the best option.

Steve was out of his clothes in record time and being pushed back into the pillows.

“You were supposed to stay hard, you know.”

He pulled himself up out of the quicksand of his thoughts and away from the sensation of her fist closing around his cock and stroking it. She put the condom down on his chest. “Wh-what?” He picked it up with clumsy hands to tear the package open.

“I said don’t finish and don’t stop. I never said go soft on me.” She swung a leg over his body and settled herself lightly on his stomach, barely hovering over him. The view of her back distracted him from the pull of her strokes rolling his skin and the slick smoothness of the condom going on. Heat swept though his face and chest. Why was she being so… mean?

“But I didn’t— _ughnn_.” She straightened up on her knees and sat back down slowly. His head rushed as he watched himself disappear into her. She sat, reaching up slowly, pulling the tie out of her hair and letting it fall down around her shoulders. She stretched and settled. “Move, dammit.” Steve settled his hands on her hips and rolled his body beneath her. She looked at him over her shoulder with narrow eyes. Her fingertips swept up the insides of his thighs to cup his testicles and knead gently.

“Say please.”

She stayed frustratingly still. Wasn’t this her idea in the first place? He covered his face with his hands.

“ _Please_ , move, dammit.” She giggled.

“Please move, what?”

“Please, move, ma’am.” She sighed and shook her head. He tried again. Lovebug. Onheil. She exhaled slowly and stroked her hands over her stomach and chest. Miss. Agent Ferguson—that one got a snort. Ellie. She pinched his thigh. “ _Ow_.”

“Keep trying.”

Babydoll. Cookie. “You keen little _dish._ ” O. Miss Mischief. Her calves tightened and relaxed on either side of his body.

“You’re such a fucking pistol.”

“Are you even speaking English anymore?” Her fingers danced over his thighs again.

“My sun and stars, moon of my life.” She continued to laugh. “Mistress. My queen. Your highness.”

“Oh, Captain darling.” She moved.

“That— _ahh_ —that’s what worked? Yo-our high _ness_?”

“No.” He didn’t care, really. “None of it was particularly compelling.” He grabbed her hips, pushed her down, pushed her faster. She moaned. His fingers pressed white marks into her skin. Her voice was high and breathy, “I just appreciate honest effort.”

Onheil’s hands moved to her own body, her fingers raking down her flanks, pushing his hands down. Steve gripped the firm flesh of her behind. She whimpered, her toes curled, she breathed his name. He dragged his thumbs up between her cheeks. “Steve, I… I want…”

“Yeah.” He made a frustrated sound when she lifted her body off of him. “Yeah, yes.” There was a wet sound; her hand reappeared behind her, fingers glistening with saliva. Her thighs shook. “Wait… wait. Don’t. I have… _Ihavelube._ ” She froze. “Just lay down.” His heartbeat was racing. “Just wait.” She looked at him over her shoulder, her mouth open and obscene, eyes hooded, cheeks flushed pink. Steve pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and bit down on his lip. “You have…you have to get off.” Onheil let out a breathy little laugh, inexplicably finding his agony funny. Later, it would occur to him that he’d made a very unfortunate word choice and tell her she was a huge dork. Onheil would tell him that it took one to know one. They’d laugh and he’d kiss her sweetly and she’d curl more tightly around him like a blanket to shield him from the rest of the world.

But right then, Steve found himself only capable of processing two things:

The heat and the tightness of everything south, and the fuzzy buzzing of everything north.

“In the…” Onheil leaned forward on her knees, her hands on his to steady herself, and moved off of him. She wobbled for a moment, and then settled her unsettling gaze on him. “In the drawer.”

***

Steve sat up, “You just need to…you need to talk me through it.” He pulled the drawer of his nightstand open. He smiled, the expression excited and nervous with the blush high on his cheeks. “Get comfortable.” He seemed to be actively ignoring his erection, the latex covering it slick with Loki’s own arousal. She raised a brow at the contents of the drawer, an unopened box allergy-free gloves and a sealed bottle of lubricant among his other miscellaneous junk.

She shook her head. She wanted to be going, moving, feeling. She didn’t have the patience to talk him through anything. “I can do it myself.” She pressed the bottle into his hands and then held out her own, waiting for him to open it. She watched the clean, clear liquid pour out onto her fingers. She straightened up on her knees and moved her slicked fingers to her ass, taking deep, slow breaths while she pressed and prodded. Steve sat up and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He cupped the back of her head with his other hand and mouthed along her collarbone. His hands squeezed firmly, reassuringly when she breached herself with a finger. His mouth found hers, drinking in her gasps and groans. Three fingers in, feeling sufficiently ready, she pulled away. “Now. Now. Now please.”

Steve laughed, “Impatient.”

“Now.” Loki settled herself on hand and knee, belly low to the mattress. She let Steve press her down nearly flat. His rough hands caressed her sides and thighs, kneaded her buttocks. “Steve, _please._ ” His thumbs ran up and down between her cheeks while he spread her. A hand disappeared; she felt the blunt head of his cock press against her, into her. She cried out in discomfort, her lover too eager and fumbling. “Slow.” Her breath came in quick draws. “Stop.” He stilled. She could practically feel his bewilderment and concern. “Just let me…”

Loki backed her hips up while he held himself and gripped her hip. He moaned openly and dropped forward, his sweaty brow falling against her shoulder. His lips pressed to her skin and she started to move.

***

He took a moment to slick himself with lubricant before pushing in. That much he remembered, although everything else he’d read on the internet since Onheil had expressed her interest and listened to the enthusiastic ladies at the sex shop say when he’d detoured—okay transferred trains and traveled across town to—before going to the market that morning went out of his head completely.

This was different. He couldn’t decide if it was something he wanted to keep doing, but _holy moley_ did it feel good. It was warm and tight and he panicked when she made a sound like she was in pain. Did he not use enough lube? The woman at the shop had said there was no such thing as too much lube and he’d thought it was enough but maybe she hadn’t prepared herself enough and the shop lady had said to use gloves because of things like fingernails and germs and maybe Onheil had hurt herself and it was really his fault because he hadn’t been insistent about it but she had been so… so… _hot_ and he just wanted her so badly and she kept making him stop and either he was going to pop or his brain was going to explode and—

He froze; the race of thoughts through his head came to a screeching halt. Her back and flanks expanded and deflated rapidly. Her red face scrunched down. She squirmed beneath him and then started to move, dropping her hips down and swinging them back up slowly. Her face relaxed, her mouth going slack. His panic dissolved into the slick glide of her body against his and the way she clenched her body with every few strokes.

“Can I?”

“Yeah.”

Bodies flush together, Steve rolled his hips. Onheil craned her neck, her mouth hot and wet and his own suddenly full of too many tongues. He felt it when she pressed two fingers into herself in want of stimulation. He dug his fingers into the duvet and tried to keep thrusting as smoothly as he could manage through his orgasm. She laughed, sounding tipsy, while he insinuated his arms between her and the mattress, trying to hold her as closely as he could for a moment before peeling himself away from her.

“Wait! Don’t.”

They shifted carefully, every nerve in him hypersensitive and screaming to cease contact. Steve settled back on his heels, knees splayed wide to support Onheil’s weight while she settled herself in his lap. He bit back a groan as she rocked her hips, unsure whether he wanted her to stop or not. She gripped his wrists, moving one hand to her bosom and the other between her legs.

“Touch me.” Her head bumped back against his shoulder, a grin spreading across her mouth. “Don’t I have to get off?” She made small, quiet sounds and continued to rock. He rolled a nipple between thumb and index fingers. He rubbed quick circles over that sensitive little bundle of nerves. He laved his tongue against that spot on her neck that turned her knees to jelly every time.

Steve was pretty sure that if anyone else on his floor had been asleep at that hour, they were awake after that.

It was odd, having a woman in his bed so open and free.

Nothing like the intense and quiet loneliness of Kate or the fevered rush of Peggy.

It was a relief when she eased herself up and off of him. The paleness of her skin and the dark blue of his bedding made her look like a study in patriotic hues when she looked at him and bit her lip, dark blush running from her cheeks and into her chest. She made a serpentine shape against the mattress that he’d commit to memory and draw later on. Maybe he’d paint her, break in the watercolors.

Steve found himself laughing, his ears burning with a blush of his own as he took the condom off and tied the end. “Now can I shower?” Onheil grinned and shook her head. She reached out to him, a silent demand for contact. They curled together, kissing and saying nothing until Onheil grimaced. She looked down at her hands, one still slightly sticky with lube.

“I think I should wash my hands.”

“That might be a good idea.”

They showered lazily, fumbling and giggling their way through the motions of washing bodies and hair. Steve half wished they were sitting in the bath so he could simply enjoy the feeling of Onheil’s fingers working shampoo into his scalp. She leaned into him while she gingerly washed between her legs and behind herself and then encircled him with her arms.

“Ready to get back into bed?” She looked at him through the steamy haze.

“Yeah… I’ll, um, be there in a few minutes.” She frowned and asked if he was all right. “Yeah. You go get dried off. I’ll be out in a minute. My laptop should be on. Pick something from Netflix.” He turned into the spray and listened to the sounds of her rustling towels and the slap of her feet on the tile floor.

He let the hot water beat down on his face and shoulders while he argued with himself. _“Oh gosh no, they do that in all the movies, don’t they? Saliva is not adequate lubrication. And don’t even think about straight up water—or soap—in the shower. Straight water is like anti-lube. You can hurt yourself, or your partner, of course.”_ The ladies in the shop had offered a wealth of information, much more than he had actually wanted. _“Oh, honey, prostates are more fun than they should really be allowed to. My husband is a fan of fingering. But if you don’t want to go inside, you can play with your perineum—that bit behind your balls. Gently, you know. Don’t want to go tearing things because you got too excited.”_ He’d wanted to turn around and walk out right then and there. He wasn’t a prude. And the ladies who ran the shop were exceedingly nice and helpful and they’d explained far more than he’d been able to find through the magic of the internet—so much porn, so little actual information! But he was also sure that at least one of them knew exactly who he was, especially when she offered him a choice of red or blue when she pulled some toy off of the shelf with a coy smile.

He soaped his body down again, scrubbing roughly with the loofah.

 _“It’s something you probably want to sit down and have an actual conversation about, to be perfectly honest. No one likes a surprise thumb up the bum.”_ She’d laughed at her own rhyme. He wondered how often she used that line or if she’d been saving it up to use on some unsuspecting person. _“Talk about limits. Is insertion something you really want to try or is it because she seemed enthusiastic and you were hot and bothered to begin with? Just stimulation on the outside is pretty fun too. There’s a ton of nerves in that whole area that are screaming for attention without ever going deeper. How many fingers are you okay with? Would you rather try a toy—start with something smaller with a good flared base, for the love of God, or you’ll wind up in the ER. Is it something your both interested in? Does she want you to use your hands or does she want to have anal sex? Do you want to as well? Because you actually want to or because she wants to? Because thanks to the wonderful world of dildos and strap-on’s and strapless wonders, that is totally a possibility if you’re into it. It’s fun and fine to make decisions on the spur of the moment, but it’s nice to have things figured out ahead of time. Makes it less awkward… Less, okay, I’m gonna stick my finger in your butt now… more, fuck yeah I’ve got a finger in my butt!”_ She’d laughed at his bewildered face and steered him toward a shelf lined with bottles of lube and explained the differences between water and silicone based.

He ran a soapy hand between his cheeks, scrubbing, trying to be as clean as possible, suddenly extremely conscious of the fact that an ass was typically an exit rather than an entrance and that they’d been running and sweating for a good part of the morning.

_“Maybe have the person on the receiving end lay down and get relaxed first. Talk, touch. Massages are great. Bubble baths are nice too, and you can both hop in the tub for that. Foreplay is always awesome. You’re dealing with a muscle group that usually wants to stay closed or push out. It’s pretty important to be relaxed and comfortable. Do some prep, don’t just go shoving toys and fingers and penises up there all willy-nilly!”_

He’d left the shop far later and after spending far more money than he’d intended to. At least, he reassured himself, he’d been able to pull his head out of the information-overload induced daze to resist the suggestion he purchase some gold-plated doodad with matching cufflinks. Who thought of these things? Who would think to buy something like that?

Steve kept the nondescript bag close to his body, distrustful that the tissue paper would actually conceal what was inside. He was relieved to find a largely empty car on the train when he boarded again and took advantage of the space on the seat beside him to reorganize the contents of his messenger bag to accommodate his purchases. When he got back to his apartment he’d put away his groceries—all organic and local and fair-trade from the farmers market and with names he couldn’t really pronounce and flavors he wasn’t entirely sure he’d actually enjoy and all entirely Onheil’s fault. After that, the bag from the sex shop went under his bed, the things he thought he’d use more immediately stashed in his nightstand.

A soft knock on the door pulled him away from his thoughts and his methodical cleaning. “Steve? Is everything okay?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you sure? I think you’ve used half of Brooklyn’s water supply.”

“I just… I’m…” He watched her silhouette move closer through the shower curtain. She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, waiting patiently for him to answer her. “I want to. I want to try it. I…”

“Yes?”

“I’m nervous.”

“Are you afraid it will hurt?”

“Maybe.” He felt like an idiot. The guy who made it a regular habit to get punched in the face in back alleys and jumped out of planes with no chute. Yup. He was afraid it would hurt. But this was different than that, wasn’t it? “I hurt you.”

“No you didn’t. It was uncomfortable for a moment, that is all. If you were hurting me I would have asked to stop entirely.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. It was my own fault, in truth. I was too impatient. I should have stretched myself more, used more lubrication, taken my time. It wasn’t anything you did.”

“I went too fast.”

“You were as eager as I was.” Her tone was light and lilting. He continued to scrub. “You have to stop blaming yourself for every tiny thing that goes even the slightest bit wrong, Steve. We’ll work out the kinks. It’s not as if we have been together for years and had sex hundreds of times. We’re still learning each other. And you are going to wash all of your skin completely off if you keep that up.”

“I don’t want to do it right now.”

“Alright.”

“Later.”

“Whenever you want.” She stood up and poked her head behind the shower curtain. “Steven?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” He found himself blushing for an altogether different reason. “And we’re watching _Cinderella._ It has that dancer you like.”

He let the water rinse the soap off of his body and laughed, “Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Onheil was curled up in bed with Steve’s sweatshirt on, working her damp hair into a braid while she waited. He went to get a pair of boxers out of the dresser and she scolded him. “You have clothes on. That’s not fair. I don’t want to be naked.” She narrowed her eyes and pulled down the zipper, showing off bare skin beneath. She intended to keep him hostage in bed and she meant business. He shoved the underwear back into the drawer and rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright. Hit play.”

A few minutes into the film, Onheil was frowning. “This is not as good as I thought it would be.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, “It’s not, is it? I thought with Ginger there would be more dancing.”

“Cinderella is singing through her nose. I am a fan of the Prince’s tights, though.”

“It’s like he’s purposefully not moving his arms so his shirt doesn’t ride up.”

She giggled the whole way through the Stepsisters’ lament. “I like them.” She sat up on her knees and put her hands on her hips, chest puffed out. “And with very little trouble, I could break her little arm!” She sang in the nasal, haughty tone that the stepsisters used.

“But they’re supposed to be the bad guys!”

“They’re honest.”

“At least until they try to shove their big feet in the glass slipper.”

“That’s not dishonesty. It’s desperation.” She leaned in to nuzzle against the crook of his neck, her light kisses tickling him. “Tell me, is that how you looked in _your_ tights?” Her fingers danced over his arm and turned his face toward hers.

“I had shorts, remember? Not quite as risky to run around in.”

“I want to see you in them.”

“When the movie’s over we can look online. I’m sure there’s some pictures out there.”

“No.” She kissed him softly. “I want to see you in them.”

“I don’t own any tights, Onheil.”

“I can fix that.”

He laughed, “If you can find blue tights that will fit me, I’ll model them for you.”

“Mmm. Challenge accepted.” Music swelled over the end credits. “Another?” He nodded. “You pick.” Onheil slid out of bed and returned while he was still scrolling through his queue. “Heads up.” He glanced up and caught the apple she lobbed in his direction with one hand. She lounged beside him, sinking her teeth into the fruit in her hand.

Eve. Tempting him. Teaching him everything. Beautiful and terrifying.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just look really good right there. Just like that.” Her lips shone with the juice of the apple, a bit of the flesh clinging to the bottom of the pair. He leaned down to kiss her.

“Mm. That one.”

“Huh?”

“That one. I want to watch that one.”

“You just ruined it.” She laughed and took another bite of apple before swatting his hand away to click on the movie she’d chosen. “Haven’t you seen this a few times already?”

“So?”

Apple cores long abandoned, free-thrown from the bed to the trash can beside the drafting table, Onheil curled into his arms while they watched Griet mix paints and fall in love and find more in herself than she ever thought was there. On the computer screen, Griet kissed Pieter, secreted away in the shelter of the barn among the piles of hay. Onheil craned her neck upward to capture Steve’s lips in hers, kissing him slowly and purposefully. “Steven?” So quiet, deep and dark.

He couldn’t help the pull of the smile at his lips. Onheil seemed at ease and content and her good mood put him into a pleasant headspace. She reached out blindly and closed the laptop, silencing the sounds of Griet and Pieter’s amorous adventures. She pushed it away and swung her leg over, settling down across his thighs. The tip of her tongue, pink and wet, slid out over her lips. She traced lazy swirls up over Steve’s stomach and chest. She scrunched up her face as she moved from smoothing her hands over his chest to pinching his nipples vindictively. “Ow!” He laughed over the painful burn, the innocence painted across her face comical. “Uncalled for, Miss Ferguson.”

“Agent.” She grinned.

“ _Agent_ Ferguson. Do I get revenge now?”

“Maybe.” She dragged her fingertips up the sliver of skin between the open zipper of her borrowed hoodie—it would certainly become yet another stolen one later on—and stretched her arms up languidly over her head before dropping them. Steve slipped his hands beneath the fabric; gripping her shoulders and sliding the sleeves off, letting the garment fall on the floor. He pulled her closer, a hand on the small of her back guiding her forward, a hand on her sternum with fingers following the pearlescent line of her scar. She didn’t shy away or move his hand.

Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes fanned out in an obscene display against her cheeks. She rolled her head lazily, back arching in, breast pressing into his grip. She moaned softly, her hand coming to rest on his, guiding the motion of his kneading. He leaned forward, mouth finding her unattended breast; tongue laving over the nipple and making her skin slick and shiny. She grew more vocal the harder he nipped and sucked, thighs flexing tight on either side of him.

Steve backed away to heave in breath, warmth and color high on his cheeks at the sight of the small contusions on her flesh, red and pink love bites calling out to be soothed again with lip and tongue. She looked like a painted girl in a magazine, something he’d stash under his bed so his Ma didn’t see and bring out to moon over with Bucky, hands in her hair threaded behind her braid and mouth open in pleasure. “Onheil?”

“Mhm?”

“Can… can we… I want…” _Christ, Rogers, what the hell is wrong with you?_ “I want to try it.”

“Now?”

“Yes.” Her mouth closed, lips spreading into a serene smile.

“Tell me how you want it.”

“What?”

She looked down at him, hands flowing fluidly with her line of sight to leave her hair in a flyaway mess of what Steve could only imagine was what one should picture when the term _sex hair_ was thrown around. She moved his hands to her hips, one of her own sliding between her legs. “Do you want me to watch you? Tell you what to do?” She breathed out in a warm rush, shoulders hunching forward, cleavage pressing into an attractive line. Soft, wet sounds found their way to his ears. “Do you want me to touch you while you do it? Laid out nice and pretty on your back, all pink and blushing, your fingers inside while I stroke your cock?” Steve’s mouth went dry. “You’re so… lovely when you blush. Have I told you that? Maybe I should make a habit of reminding you.” He swallowed hard. Onheil was always in control, always on top, always deliberate. But this was… new. “Or do you want me behind you? I can—“

“I want you to do it. I—I want… you to use your hands.” His ears grew hot. He did his best to ignore his erection, cock bobbing at attention even untouched. She bit her lip and shuddered, continuing to touch herself.

“We’ll go slow.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll feel—mmph!” Her nostrils flared and body tensed, eyes squeezed shut as she came. Steve had opened his mouth to speak, words failed him. She opened her eyes as he rubbed circles on her hips with his thumbs. “—so good.” He let his head drop back and his eyes rolled, her sticky hand moving from between her legs to grip him.

 _Serum, don’t fail me now._ He laughed breathlessly at his own private joke as she stroked, making a pained sound when she stopped without warning. He wasn’t sure he liked this part of her game. “You broke the rules, you know.”

“What rules?”

“No marks.” She raised a brow at him, the arch threatening to disappear into her hairline. She sat down, settling between his legs, knees bent and feet framing his hips. “You certainly broke the rule over and over again.” He wasn’t sorry. She wiped the smug grin off of his face with a swipe of her thumb through the clear fluid dripping from his head. “You got a show.” She offered him the thumb. He opened his mouth tentatively. She clenched her jaw and swallowed hard when he closed his lips around the digit, tongue flicking against it. “Now I want one.” She drew her hand back, thumb leaving his lips with a wet _pop._

Steve took himself in hand, letting his head drop back against the headboard and closing his eyes. He stroked for a few minutes, completely self-conscious and getting nowhere. “Onheil,” he croaked out. She gripped his chin gently and made him look at her. Alright then. Getting somewhere.

Warm semen landed in drops against his stomach and ran down over his fingers. He laughed, a nervous rush, she giggled along with him. “Feeling nice and relaxed now?”

“Surprisingly so.”

Her features turned bright and amiable. “Tell me what you want.” They shifted around, a tangle of legs, so that Steve could get off the bed. He pulled the bag from the sex shop out from under the bed and placed it down in front of her.

“Wait. I’ll be right back.” She was waiting cross-legged staring at the ceiling, drumming her fingers against her upturned chin when he returned from the bathroom.

“What is this?” She indicated the bag when he sat down.

“I went to an establishment that caters to adult-oriented activities.” He cleared his throat and folded his arms, trying to look haughty and failing.

Onheil laughed, “One of those seedy looking places on 8th?”

“Oh gosh, no.” He explained where he went and whom he spoke to. “I wanted to, you know, find stuff out. Internet wasn’t really very helpful in this case.”

“The lube and gloves?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then what’s in there?”

“I lost track, to be honest. They just kept suggesting things and I didn’t know how to say no. I think they knew they had a captive audience.” He started pulling items out of the bag and lining them up in some sense of order in front of them. Onheil picked up the first black jar and opened it up to take a sniff.

“Cocoa cardamom? Looking to set the mood?” She screwed the lid back onto the candle and put it back.

“When you light it, the melted bits are massage oil. You can just pour it on.” She asked if the last massage she’d given him left him with the impression that it would be a regularly provided service. He laughed. “No, I just thought it was neat. I thought you might enjoy it. That’s the one thing I actually picked out completely on my own before they noticed me. I was very proud of myself. Evidently I had that frightened, deer-in-the-headlights look.” Her eyes grew bigger, her cheeks more pink, and she seemed to have a harder and harder time holding in her laughter with each item Steve laid down.

A fancy bottle of lubricant with a weird name. Little circular, brightly foiled bars that melted against the skin. A box of singly packaged cleaning wipes. A tall bottle of oil proclaiming to be gluten-free and vegan and smelling of honey and almonds.

She picked up the book he placed down and flipped through the pages, brow raised high in what he was sure was amusement. He finished placing down items while she perused.

“What is _that_?”

“The lady in the store called it a,” he cleared his throat while she tore into the package, “a butt plug. A, um, prostate stimulator. I actually knew what some of them were. The cone-shaped ones at least. We had those, you know, back in the day. They were prescribed by doctors for different things though. We called them rectal dilators.”

“Oh?” She turned it over in her hands, looking at it from all angles. “Do you want to use this?”

“I don’t think I’m ready for that, yet.”

“Alright.” She put the toy down on the bed. “And this?” She opened the next box and pulled out a glass toy.

“They said you might like that one. You don’t have to use it, though, I think I can return it if you don’t have any interest. When I said that you wanted to try anal sex they asked me what your favorite color was and just sort of handed it to me.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll think about it.” She peeked over the edge of the bag and giggled. “What are all these?” She upended it and laughed harder as a healthy supply of single condoms spilled out. “These taste like things?” Steve nodded. “And these are different colors. Why on earth did you buy these?”

“I didn’t! They had an event and they were handing them out. I’m positive one of the ladies knew who I was and she thought it was funny. She just grabbed two handfuls from the bowl and dumped them in. I swear I didn’t buy novelty condoms.”

“Worried I don’t like the taste of you?” She continued to laugh. “You did buy that box, though.”

“Yeah. There’s all different ones? Thin ones and textures. I thought it might be nice to try them. And I got this,” He picked up a rectangular package. “They said we should be using these but that most people don’t even know they’re a thing.” The package contained what the ladies at the store described as a “flat condom.” _For healthy eating at the front and the back!_ “I… I want to do this safely. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or sick or anything.” He could feel his face steadily turning red. He just wanted the both of them to enjoy… whatever it was they were getting into.

“Whatever you want. I do know what I’m doing—“

“I sort of got that.”

“—but I’m not going to rush you into anything that you’re not ready for.” She started putting things back into the bag. “What is this thing?” She picked up another rectangular packet.

“I honestly haven’t got the slightest clue. I think it’s supposed to go inside of you so I don’t have to wear anything.”

“No thanks.”

“That’s what I thought.” He laughed, nerves loosening slightly.

Onheil put the bag back down on the floor. “We’ll go slow.”

***

Steve breathed out slowly and heavily, seeming to empty his lungs completely and looking like he was trying to purge himself of something. “Okay.” She agreed again to his terms of safety.

Loki kissed him slowly. She slid her hands over his skin and pressed and kneaded at all the little points of tension she could find. She molded her body to his. They settled against the headboard with a sigh. “I think you should lie down on your stomach.” She directed Steve to the middle of the bed and patted his rump, “Up.” He shifted and allowed her to prop his hips up on a pillow. She ran her hands up his thighs and kneaded her curled fingers into his buttocks, pressing her lips closed at the shuddery breaths he took and the red hue to the tips of his ears. He laughed, the sound dark and deep in his belly, when she draped herself over him.

She kissed the shell of his ear and he turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eye. “Steve.”

“Onheil.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

She slid down the length of him, leaving a string of kisses from his shoulder to his lower back. She spread his cheeks gently, caressing with thumbs. His whole body tensed when she breathed out, hot and humid, against his skin. She was enjoying the scent of him, the oils of his skin and the lingering smell of soap. He jerked sharply when she licked slowly with the flat of her tongue, leaving a slick trail over the swell of his ass. “Onheil, don’t, if you’re not going to use—“

“Okay. Nothing that you don’t want.”

“I just…I want—.”

“Relax.” Loki had to hold back a laugh, feeling like she was having a conversation with his ass as it was.

“Just… don’t.”

“As you wish, Captain darling.” She laid a wet kiss against his buttock and crawled off of the bed to retrieve the lubricant and gloves from the nightstand.

Loki took a breath, steeling herself for the foolishness she felt. It was like she was playing out a game of doctor, and rather poorly at that. But it was what he wanted. She thought he had taken whatever he’d read online and been told by the ladies in the shop far too much to heart. For someone who claimed to have been _creative_ and _adventurous_ and _experienced_ , he certainly had plenty of anxieties every time they hopped into bed.

She watched the shiver run down his spine when the _click_ of the cap opening on the bottle of lube sounded in the quiet room and when the cool, clear liquid hit his skin and dripped down, rolling in the valley between his cheeks. He made soft sounds and gripped the pillows under his head while she swept her fingers though the lube, pressing gently at that pucker she ached to have open beneath her and drawing swirls onto the swatch of skin below it, watching the soft blond hairs turn dark with moisture.

Loki frowned down at her sticky hand, tempted to wipe the excess lube off on the bedding. “Onheil?”

“Mm?”

“I’m gonna lose my mind if you just stop like that.”

“Wouldn’t want that.” A shimmer of green made the offending substance disappear. She slipped her hand into a glove plucked from the box, grimacing at the clinical look of it and doing her best to avoid the sounds of squeaking, snapping nitrile. She flexed her fingers in their purple sheath. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” It was more impatient sigh than solid response. She eased her middle finger through the tight ring of his anus. His body went rigid; she stopped.

“You have to relax, my love.” Her clean hand caressed the nearest thigh and buttock, pressed in and ran up over the meat of his back. Steve relaxed. Loki continued to push in carefully. When her second knuckle disappeared she backed out slowly, watching what she could see of his face carefully.

They continued that way for several minutes, a slow and gentle in-and-out. “Another?” She discretely squeezed more lubricant onto her fingers.

“Yes.”

Her middle and index fingers eased into his body, close and smooth and warm around her digits, muscles clenching and rebelling against the intrusion. She watched the blush spread over his shoulders and down his back. His face pinkened. Eyes squeezed shut as they watered. “Are you alright?”

***

Oh, God, he didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t trust his mouth to form words properly. She’d stopped moving. He could feel her free hand stroking up and down his side soothingly. “Mhmph.”

“Captain darling, you need to give me an actual answer. If I don’t have an answer I am going to stop.”

He waited for the space of a few deep breaths. “Yes. Keep going.” She continued to ease her fingers in and out.

In and out.

In and out.

“Ah!” His eyes teared at the intensity of the new sensation. He gripped the pillow beneath his head tightly. Onheil was crooking her fingers up and down touching… something. Prostate? Prostate.

_…about the size of a walnut! Some guys can get off just from having it played with. Healthy prostates are super important._

“Steve?” He felt the mattress shift, her bosom against his back, her lips brushing against his skin. “Do you want me to stop? You’re holding your breath.”

_You know, like air quotes…but not…in the air?_

She started to ease her fingers back. Steve let out what he was sure sounded like a maniacal giggle. “Steve?”

“No! Don’t. It’s fine. It’s good. Just give me a minute.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Put them back. _Please._ ” He groaned when she did. He laid there, letting it happen, letting himself feel it and nothing more for a few moments. “Onheil.” He drew himself up, weight settled on his forearms, belly brushing against the bed with the deep arch of his back, cock half hard. He rocked back against her hand and thought he might die.

But pleasantly.

If that made sense.

It did in the haze that clouded his head, obscuring anything that wasn’t fingers and ass and cock and Onheil and slippery and…

It was good.

Weird and at least a little uncomfortable but good.

She let him set the pace. “Another?”

He shook his head. Slow. They said they were taking it slow. He needed slow. It was good and weird and way too much. He focused on Onheil’s breathing and the soft sounds she made somewhere behind him rather than the _squelchy_ sound their coupling made and the coolness of the lube that refused to warm against his skin in the carefully temperature-controlled room. If he didn’t feel both of her hands on his body, he would swear she was touching herself. The thought made his cock jump with interest.

“On.. _oh_ …nhe- _e_ -il?”

“Mm?” It sounded like her lips were clamped shut, her tone lifted at the tail like she was in distress.

“I want…I want to see you. I—can we? I—“ A rush of heat ran through his body, his toes tingling in anticipation. “I want to turn around.”

“Yes.” She drew her hand away slowly. He whimpered at the loss and rolled his body over, trying to be careful not to knock her with his legs. Steve dropped his head back against the pillow, overwhelmed by the look of her.

She might have been enjoying giving more than he was enjoying receiving. Color high on her cheeks, eyes hooded in that dangerously lusty way she had, blush spread delicately across her chest. Her nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath, tongue darting out to wet her lips, drawing the bottom one in. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She walked on her knees up between his legs, drawing one leg up and kissing his shin gently. She hooked her elbow under his knee and sank her fingers back into him, crooking them up the way he did when he touched her and making him see stars. Steve watched her, the way she swept her eyes over him. The way her fingers pressed the flesh of his thigh red and white. The way she arranged herself as close to him as she could, encouraging him to move his hips when he made tentative jerks by moving her own.

Like she was fucking into him.

“Touch yourself.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Eyes on Onheil, hands around his cock, he came more quickly than he really wanted to. Her fingers slowed and stopped, an end to the feat of dextral gymnastics inside of him, while he stroked through his orgasm. The blood rushing in his ears faded into their heavy breathing. He felt boneless and sated and _good._ He laughed, the discomfort of her fingers digging into his thigh coming into focus. “So that’s what that’s all about.” She let out a breathy little chuckle and peeled the glove off of her hand to pitch over into the trash. It landed on the edge of the bin, the wrist of it hanging outside.

She dropped down heavily beside him, a marionette with cut strings, and pecked a kiss on the top of his nose. “Enjoyed it?”

“Not at all. Never want to do that again.” He grinned and she rolled her eyes. They lay for a few minutes, kissing and breathing and sticking together with sweaty arms and chests. He could feel his eyes drooping in spite of the rumble in his stomach, rebelling against lack of food.

Her lips brushed against his ear, “Do you want me to clean you up?”

Steve shook his head, “No. I can do it. Just have to remember how to make my legs work.” A few minutes later they were curled together, drifting off into an afternoon nap.

***

The Captain’s back expanded and collapsed slowly and steadily against Loki’s chest. His heart thumped out a perfect rhythm against the palm of her hand. He was warm and radiant in his afterglow-induced slumber.

“Your feet are like ice.” She laughed and discontinued the stroke of her foot up and down his calf. He turned over onto his back and brought her knuckles to his lips. “They didn’t tell me a lot about what would happen to my body with the serum. Even less than they probably should since Erskine didn’t write a lot down—his secrets were too valuable.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Hush.” She stuck out her tongue and he rolled his eyes. “Some things I wasn’t too happy to find out. Not being able to get drunk comes to mind.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Before, I had so little meat on me, didn’t take much at all. I paid for it tenfold when I sobered up between the hangover and my stomach problems so I didn’t drink very often. But once in a while was nice, you know?” Loki raised a brow but kept her mouth closed, waiting for him to get to his point. “Other things I was kind of thrilled about. Like being able to go for longer, as stupid and immature as that sounds, more than one round if it wasn’t an incredibly enthusiastic one. Kate was always really nice about it. Said I made up for lack of stamina in other ways. Never acted too entirely upset when she was hot and bothered and I couldn’t even get it up.” The sad smile persisted. “I’d like to imagine Peggy would have been just as kind, patient. That was the stuff she was made of. Tough as nails with the patience of a saint when she needed it. I was still figuring out how the hell my body worked when we finally got together as something, well, more. I made it up as I went along, pretended to be confident until I actually was. There wasn’t a lot of time for fumbling around though, no time to be nervous. And then all of a sudden it was over and she was gone, but not really, and still my best girl, but not really. With you… I don’t know. I’m glad I never have to think of any of that with you. That we can just be together. Figure things out at our own pace. You know?”

“I think so.” Loki sat up and stretched. Steve ran his hand, big and rough and warm, up over her back. The clock said it was evening time. The audible whine of his stomach said it was time to eat.

“This looks different. Better. Like it’s fading. I didn’t think that would happen. You heal fast but you have other scars.”

“What would you like for dinner?”

“You.”

“Tempting. But no.” He shrugged and suggested she surprise him. “You just assume I’ll cook?” He batted his lashes at her and grinned. “I hate you.”

“You’re so much better at it than I am.”

“Mm. Very true. The hating and the cooking.” She slipped out of bed and snatched the sweatshirt she’d commandeered off the floor. Steve laughed and told her she was breaking her own rules. “Have you ever attempted to cook while nude? It’s not particularly fun. Hot stoves and oils and bare skin don’t play nicely.” She stole a pair of cotton boxers from his drawer and bent over to slip them on, wiggling her bottom in Steve’s general direction.

Steve slid up behind her at the kitchen counter and circled his arms around her waist. He smacked his lips in a loud kiss against her neck. “I can go out and get anything we need. I’m just kind of sick of take-out and hospital meals. I promise I’m not trying to be that guy… what do they say now? Make me a sandwich?”

“It’s fine. I haven’t decided what I want yet.” Over the course of their relationship, Steve had expanded his palate and waded into the waters of cooking more adventurously for himself than the standard meat-and-potatoes faire that he seemed to fall back on. Their first summer, he’d put up pegs on the wall to hang his coffee mugs and clear off the shelf they’d lived on, mostly dustily, to make room for a collection of cookbooks. From the looks of the things he’d filled his fridge with after his trip to the market and _beyond_ , he seemed to have ingredients to try every recipe from the book with _Japanese Soul Cooking_ embossed down the spine. “Fish, maybe.” She pulled away from him and reached for that particular book from the shelf.

“Fish is good. I like fish. I’ll go put clothes on. I’ll see what the supermarket has.”

“You’re phone is ringing.” He continued to plant kisses against her neck, his hands sliding up her belly beneath the sweatshirt.

“I don’t really care. They’ll call back if it’s something important.”

“Steve.” His thumb brushed over her breast. “I can’t pick something from this book if you don’t let me focus.”

“Hm? I’m not doing anything.” A hand ran down between her legs, firm pressure making her want to abandon all notion of edible nourishment and going back to getting it in another way entirely. The persistent throb of hunger at her left temple kept her rooted in reason.

“Steve your _phone_.” She relaxed and focused her eyes back onto the picture of roasted Mahi Mahi in front of her, mouth watering at the idea of the firm flesh and cauliflower.

“Hey, Clint.” The slap of his bare feet on the floor heralded Steve’s return. “Not much, what’s up?” He punched the speaker button and set the phone down on the counter.

“Nothing much either, really. You eat dinner yet?”

Steve snaked his arms back around her waist. “Not yet, thinkin’ about what to have.” He moved Loki’s braid aside, flipping it over one shoulder and licking a stripe up the opposite side of her neck. She turned to the next page in the cookbook.

“Wanna come out with me? I was thinking of heading over to Brighton Beach. There’s this hole in the wall that Natasha loves…”

“Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d rather stay in tonight.” Loki let her head drop back against Steve’s shoulder, resigning herself to simply giving in to sensation. His mouth on her neck, his fingers stroking up and down the crease between thigh and groin.

“Mmph!”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, ah, any reason you don’t want to come out in particular?” Barton sounded on edge. “Are you still upset about the interview thing?”

“No, I’m not upset about that. Still going to pursue it, but not upset.”

“You know, they serve this rabbit stew that’s really good.”

Steve laughed, “I haven’t had rabbit since the war…” He rested his chin on her shoulder and made a thoughtful sound. “No, that’s a lie. Onheil and I had hare pie the first time she let me take her out.”

“So come out with me! The stew’s great and I’m even better company.”

“I don’t have any doubt about that. But it’s complicated.”

“You can just say _no_ , Cap. You don’t have to be evasive.”

“I’m not trying to be evasive.”

“Then what is so complicated about going out to get dinner with me?” Barton’s frustration was evident in his tone.

“Well…” Steve paused to kiss Loki’s neck again. “There’s this dame in my kitchen and she looks about good enough to eat.” Loki snorted in amusement at Steve’s brazenness.

“I…I…well then. You better not let Onheil find out. She’ll skin both of you.”

“Oddly, I don’t think she’d mind in this particular case.”

Steve’s thumb was working at her clit through the soft cotton of the boxers she was wearing. She drew in a deep breath and pushed his hand away.

“Steve… am… am I on speaker? Can you take me off?”

“Sure.” Steve’s face morphed into a mask of concern as he walked into the living room to take the call. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Anytime, Clint. No, you’re not interrupting anything, I promise. We actually were legitimately trying to figure out what to have for dinner. I don’t know about her, but I’m starving…Yes, of course!” Steve came back into the kitchen. “Clint wants to know if he can pick anything up on his way over.” Loki frowned, something was wrong. She pointed at the page in the cookbook she was looking at. “Onheil says salmon. I can go out if you want to just head over here, though, you really don’t have to worry about bringing anything over…Okay. We’ll see you in a little bit.”

Steve loped down the stairs when he received a text from Barton. The two came into the apartment with the rustling of paper bags and the coo of soft voices. “It’s really not a problem Clint, you have to stop apologizing. When have I ever objected to spending time with you?”

Loki paused in her work at slicing a mountain of brussel sprouts into halves to look over her shoulder in time to notice the completely incredulous look Barton was giving Steve.

Steve sighed and hung his head. “Okay, when in recent, stably-medicated history have I objected?” He smiled sheepishly and took the Whole Foods bag from Barton.

“But you guys were, I don’t know, planning on something else. Something couple-y. I’m just a third wheel.”

Loki had taken the few moments after Steve went downstairs to put more presentable clothing on. She brushed her hands on the legs of her pants and leaned in the doorway to the kitchen. “No you are not. Besides,” she waved her hand in Steve’s general direction, “he bores me after too many hours.” Steve pretended to be offended and slid past her into the kitchen.

“Can I help with anything?”

“You can keep an eye on that risotto, I have absolutely no patience for it and I regret even thinking of making it.” Barton smiled, something akin to Steve’s reflexive expression, soft and sad and not all together present. He followed her into the kitchen and took up watch over the bubbling rice and mushroom catastrophe on the stove.

When dinner was ready Steve stood in the middle of the kitchen looking at the table as if seeing it for the first time. “Want to eat in the living room? We can watch the evening news and see if Bernard is going to try to talk his way out of things.”

Loki slapped down a damp towel on the table and wiped down the surface. “Nope.” Steve’s eyes grew wide for a moment. He cleared his throat and went to get plates and placemats from the cabinet. Loki pressed her lips into a thin line to hide her amusement. Plates loaded with food in hand, Loki directed Steve to sit where he had that morning and placed herself across from him, a bemused Barton between them.

“So why were you going out to a restaurant Natasha likes without Natasha?”

Clint frowned, “Fury sent her out on a mission. She said it was just light recon, undercover but not too deep, but why would they send Black Widow on light recon? Any field agent can do that.” Steve frowned as he chewed, roasted green sprout speared on his fork hovering in the space between mouth and plate. “I’m worried. She’s off grid, which makes me even more suspicious. And she said she was going to be in Vienna but when I talked the comms people into telling me whether or not she’d gotten there safely I stole a report that put her last ping before disabling her GPS somewhere in Belarus. She’s literally over fourteen hundred kilometers away from where she’s supposed to be.” Clint stared at the piece of fish on his plate like it had personally offended him. “I feel like something bad is going to happen and I didn’t want to be alone when I got the news.”

Sticky silence fell over the table.

“Clint, Natasha will be fine.” Steve’s tone was soft and soothing.

“I should be there with her.”

“She can handle herself.”

“We’re a team.”

“You both run solo missions all the time, how is this different?” Clint looked up at Loki, eyes wide and accusing for a moment. “Oh. SHIELD doesn’t think you’re ready to go back into the field?”

“It’s bullshit. I’m doing fine with the hearing aids. They built me one with a comm unit in it for missions. I’m getting really good at signing and I’ve always been good at reading lips if I lose them for some reason.” His eyes welled with unspilled tears. He scrunched his face up and sniffed loudly, blinking rapidly. He stabbed the pink flesh with his fork and shoved it into his mouth. “This is really good, Onheil.”

The subject was dropped. Loki suspected there was some greater game afoot than simply being cautious about sending Clint back out before he was ready. There were too many times over the course of her month in Washington that Agent Hill had stepped away for some secretive call. If something about the Widow’s mission seemed off enough to raise the alarm for Barton, it was certainly enough to give Loki pause as well.

A little past eleven Steve groaned and stretched in his chair, jarring Loki in her position lounging on the floor against his shins. A game of gin lay abandoned on the coffee table amongst empty bottles and pastry wrappers while they watched some comedian Loki did not find particularly comedic plug his latest film on the late night talk show. “Alright, I don’t know about you two, but I think I need to head to bed. I’m not really looking forward to going into SHIELD tomorrow and I’d rather have a full night’s sleep.” Loki moved out of the way for Steve to stand and stretch and shake the stiffness from his legs. “You can stay as long as you want, Clint, please don’t feel like you have to leave. I’m sure Onheil would like the company since I bore her so much.” He smiled slyly and collected the garbage from the table to bring into the kitchen.

Clint peeled himself off of the couch to assist. He spoke in low tones, over the soft clink of glass and rustle of the garbage bag. “Steve, would you mind if I stayed over? I can leave if you want. That was a stupid thing to ask. I’m sorry. You probably want the place to yourself with Ferguson here, so I underst—“

“Clint, it’s really not a problem. You’ve got to stop apologizing.” Loki crawled up onto the couch and pretended to be continuing to watch the television while she watched the men in the kitchen out of the corner of her eye. Steve put a hand on Barton’s shoulder and squeezed it in a comforting gesture. “I’d be happy to have you for the night.” Steve moved to come back into the living room, speaking as he went. “I’ll grab you some pillows and stuff. Do you want pajamas? A shirt and shorts or something?”

Clint laughed nervously, “I, ah, I actually came prepared. I was hoping you’d say yes? I’m good.”

“Alright. I’ll make up the couch for you then. It’s not a fold out like yours; it is pretty comfortable, though.”

“Aww, I thought I’d sleep with you guys!” He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout.

“Oh. I think there’s room? I mean, it’s a king but…”

“You take things too literally sometimes, you know that, Cap?” He chuckled softly, “The couch is great. I have slept in far worse places and that is a good couch.” Clint came out of the bathroom dressed for bed with freshly brushed teeth when Steve was finishing dressing the couch. “Thank you guys. Really. This…” He rubbed the back of his head, making his hair stick up awkwardly and endearingly. His cheeks turned pink. “This really means a lot.”

Steve sat down wearily in the chair at his drafting table. He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it down rather than mussing it up as Clint had. “I’m sorry, Lovebug. I put a monkey wrench in your plans for tonight, didn’t I?”

“Darling, as I recall,” Loki closed the bedroom door quietly behind herself, “you were the one with your hands down my pants. I was trying to make a dinner selection. The only plans you spoiled were your own.” They laughed, controlled and quiet. Loki undressed, folding her clothes carefully to put back in the morning. Steve watched for a moment before disrobing as well. Loki slithered into bed in all of her naked glory, careless of or without care for the Hawk’s presence. Steve slipped under the comforter in his boxer shorts. Loki watched him as he settled down, studying the tiny ways his expression turned over and the way his shoulders refused to relax. “That was a very nice thing you did, Steve.” He looked up at her quizzically. “Your friend needed you. There’s nothing to be sorry for there.” She pecked a kiss at his forehead and turned over before he could say another word, burrowing down into the pillows with his warmth at her back. He whispered something that sounded like _goodnight_ and _I love you_ into the darkness.

***

Kate was radiant in the late afternoon sun. She sat in her silky camisole and tap pants on the big steamer trunk beneath her bedroom window. One foot dangled, swinging back and forth with her toes against the floor; the other knee was folded up, her foot planted against the window frame. She was completely elegant in her determination to be the most improper lady she possibly could. She wore the tie she’d given Steve, just because, around her neck.

She’d abandoned her hairpins halfway though, deciding instead that she needed a cigarette far more desperately than perfect pin curls. She held the lit cigarette out the open window, blowing the smoke in the same direction.

“They want me’da move inta the Griffith. They say that my livin’ here with Carroll is holdin’ ‘im back.” She took a deep drag and held the smoke in for a moment before exhaling. Steve scratched his nub of charcoal against his paper, tracing the curve of her calf as it flowed down into ankle and heel. “They forget that _I’m_ payin’ half the rent and _he_ doesn’t wan to settle down. An’ why wou’d I wanna trade and entire apartment, where I’kin do whatever I want for one tiny, stinkin’ room where I can’t even invite anyone up? I’ve got a girlfriend who lives there’n she says that Ms. Fry is worse’n a dictat’eh.”

They were going to go out when Carroll got home from work. A big group of them. Enough to deflect interest from anything between Kate and Steve and to keep Bucky from worrying that Steve wasn’t socializing enough.

“Ya do this thing where you retreat. Ya scare me when ya do that, Steve, when you… when you go where I can’t reach ya. I’m with y’da the end’a the line, pal, but sometimes I’m not sure we’re even on the same train. ”

“You finished with that?” Steve scrutinized his sketch for a moment then nodded. Kate stubbed out her cigarette and smiled at him. She shifted around to sit cross-legged atop her trunk and patted the empty space beside her. Steve snagged a tissue from her beside to clean his hands before he joined her. “You makin’ me look like the Madonna over there?”

He laughed and pulled a pin out near her forehead. The curl unraveled and bounced in front of her face. “Absolutely, Kitten.” He tucked the springy lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ya gonna have a drink with me ta’night?”

“Maybe just one. My stomach don’t feel that bad ta’day.”

“Ya comin’ home with me?”

“I’ve got class in the morning.”

She leaned forward, moving into his personal space. She smelled like cloves and tobacco and something very vaguely reminiscent of the cigarettes he smoked when he was having a particularly bad day with his asthma. “Gonna dance with me?”

“Ya know I can’t dance.”

“That’s ah’ite. Ya know I can’t either.”

“You should ask Buck’ta dance. Every dame’s a natural on the floor with ‘im.”

Her mouth tasted warm and spicy when she kissed him, her fingers gripping his suspenders and bunching up his undershirt. “I don’t _wan’ta_  be a natural with Bucky.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the window frame, pulling away from the kiss. “Katey, I tried, I promise. It’s just… it’s not a good day. I’m _tired_ , Katey.”

“I’m not askin’ fer that, Stevie.” He peeked at her through heavy lidded eyes and long lashes. He did want to. Very much. It just wasn’t happening. He watched her loosen the tie around her neck and undo the knot.

“Hey!” He protested half-heartedly. “Tha’was a good knot. Took me four tries ta get it that perfect.”

She chuckled, the sound low and throaty, and leaned in to kiss him again. The light went out of his world when the tie covered his eyes. Kate pressed her lips to his forehead and took his hands away when he went to remove the improvised blindfold. “Just relax.”

***

Steve woke up covered in sweat and feeling like he was swimming up against the current in a lake full of thick, dark pudding. He stretched and groaned, slowly becoming aware of his arousal and the unpleasant rub of his shorts against his cock.

He rolled closer to Onheil, pulled toward her like a magnet in the darkness. He gathered her into his arms and worked his mouth, lazy and wet, across her shoulder and up the side of her neck. Her breathing stayed deep and even as she slowly came awake in his arms.

“Steven?” She stretched her arm back, fingers finding the back of his head and grabbing a hank of hair tightly. He smoothed his hand up her chest. His hand encircled her elegant throat. _Like a swan,_ he thought as he continued to swim. A swan sitting on top of the pudding lake. Someplace in his sleep haze there was a rational spark that said that image was ridiculous.

He traced her jaw with his thumb. Onheil bit lightly into the digit when it caressed her lips. Steve groaned and thrust his hips against her backside. She sucked his thumb into her mouth and gripped his hair tighter while he buried his face in hers at the nape of her neck.

“Can we—?”

“Yes.”

His scalp tingled when she let go of his head he rolled to his other side and thrust his hand down into the sex shop bag beside the bed blindly. When he turned back, Onheil was settled comfortably on her stomach, still and calm. Steve fumbled with the wrapper for a moment before getting it open.

“ _Hurry._ ” His cock twitched at her plaintive whisper. Not helpful. Very not helpful. He kicked the comforter away and pushed down the waistband of his shorts to roll the rubber on. Onheil whined into her pillow and canted her hips back when he rubbed his cock against her folds. “Don’t tease!” He pressed himself in slowly.

For all their urgency, they fucked lazily, the drowsiness of the hour settling back over them. Onheil drew herself up onto her elbows and rocked back into him as he thrust forward for several minutes.

“ _Harder._ ” He pressed forward more firmly. She repeated her request in a second broken whisper. The room fell into erratic, huffed breaths and the slap of skin against skin. He could feel the ripple of her buttocks against his pelvis each time their bodies smacked together. “Oh!” She sucked in breath. “Oh!” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to her shoulder blade. “ _Det! Det! Ikke stopp…”_ He heard ‘stop,’ loud and clear. “Don’t!” Confused, he picked up his pace again. “Oh!” She pushed back until he had to rear up on his knees. He looped an arm around her waist to support her body. “Steve! Hardere, vær så snill…” Harder, he heard ‘harder.’ He wasn’t sure whether she was even aware of what she was saying.

That was okay. Because she was a swan at the surface of a lake where nothing made sense anyway.

The muscles in her sides tightened and shook as she came, Steve shortly behind. He pulled out gingerly and flopped onto his back. Onheil sank back down into the mattress slowly. “Were you…” He panted, trying to catch his breath. “Were you even speaking English?” She snorted and laughed into her pillow by way of response. Steve shook his head in disbelief. His body felt heavy and sluggish. He tied off the condom and tucked himself away. Onheil groaned in displeasure when he leaned over her to toss the spent rubber into the garbage.

He laid there staring at the ceiling in the darkness listening to Onheil’s heavy breathing fade into slumber, unable to follow her. Rather than let frustration force him to stay awake, he slid out of bed and into a pair of running shorts left haphazardly on the floor.

***

Clint sat at the kitchen table by the dim light of the lamp in the living room, just beyond the window. He gave it an honest try and the couch really was comfortable, but sleep was evading him. He hoped Steve wouldn’t mind the fact that he’d raided the fridge for leftovers as he sat with a container full of roasted sprouts in front of him, spearing them one at a time on his fork.

Steve came into the kitchen looking like something out of a goddamned Calvin Klein ad. The weak light played in shadows on his sculpted torso and made his friendly, open face look dangerous. He said something that from the side looked like Clint’s name. Barton grunted in response with a mouthful of sprout.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Clint winced. He knew his volume was just slightly too loud, his intonation just barely off. Steve’s head and shoulder’s bobbed while he talked into the open fridge and then opened a cabinet to search for a box a cereal. “Cap! Cap. I can’t understand you.” Steve whipped his body around, brow furrowed for a moment before realization dawned on him. He clicked on the switch over the stove, throwing more soft illumination into the room and making the shadows around his mouth less obscuring. Clint started to rise, “I can put my hearing aids in, it’s okay, I—“

Steve shook his head and settled himself in the seat across from Clint at the table with a box of cereal and a bottle of water. They ate in silence, or relatively so, for a few minutes before Steve reached across the table to tap a finger beside the container in front of Clint. “Do you want—?”

Steve shook his head, concern on his face. He took a sip of water before pushing his box and bottle to the side. He pointed the middle fingers of both hands toward his chest and poked himself, arms moving in a subtly circular motion. _What’s up?_

Clint couldn’t help the little smile that turned up the corners of his mouth. He shrugged and popped another sprout in his mouth. Steve ran though signs, some a little faster than Clint could follow. _Sad? Angry?_ He snapped his hand up, thumb tucked down and four fingers straight and together, touching his chin briefly. _Frustrated?_

Clint chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. He stuck two thumbs out to the side, crossed his hands and opened them, palm up. _Everything._ He splayed his hands open, palms in, and gestured across his chest. _Scared._

Steve nodded, his expression knowing. He spoke in a mix of speech and sign, forcing Clint to keep up with him. Clint was glad for the challenge. It was distracting.

“What’s new since… The mission.”

“Met a girl.”

“But you and Natasha are…” He made two loose fists, thumbs on top, and joined them, “together? No?”

Clint gestured with one finger, curling and uncurling it while he moved his hand across his brow. _Complicated._ “I don’t mean a girl like that, though.” He explained that she was a bit of a vigilante. Steve frowned, concerned for her safety, apparently. “She’s good with a bow. Watched out for the neighborhood when I…” He wasn’t sure how to explain it. “When I wasn’t myself.” He made the sign for _H_ and drew his arm back to rest his fingers against the side of his mouth like he was drawing a bowstring. He grinned inwardly; proud of the sign he’d settled on for himself. He was still working on everyone else.

Steve listened and watched, reserving comment while Clint talked about the fascinating and infuriating girl who’d shown up at his door one afternoon and scolded him for not keeping the neighborhood safe before inviting herself inside and helping herself to the pot of coffee that had just finished brewing. “She told me the coffee was awful and I need to start keeping up with the tracksuit scum again.”

He put his fingers into the sign for _K_ then closed his fist and rapped it one against his chin. _Kate Bishop._

Steve’s cheeks darkened with a blush. Clint asked if he knew the girl. “No, I just knew a Kate. Before…” He moved his open hands toward each other sharply, fingertips barely coming together. He dropped one hand and stuck the pinky of the other up before putting his thumb out and opening and closing his hand quickly. _War. Ice._ “Been thinking about her a lot lately.” He looked away, his eyes sweeping over the table before he grabbed the cereal box and shoved a small handful in his mouth. He peeked back up at Clint.

Clint grinned. He dragged his thumb down the side of his cheek and then locked his index fingers together first in one direction and then the other. _Girlfriend?_ Steve imitated the answer Clint had given earlier. _Complicated._

Steve opened his mouth to speak again. Clint only caught half of his words when he leaned toward the door. “Something wrong?” Steve shook his head. He curled his fingers into an _O_ and then popped the sign open near his face. _Onheil_ _awake_. He got up to put his cereal box back in the cabinet.

“Will you be okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hesitate to get us up if you need something. Anything.” He paused in the doorway, twisting his half empty water bottle slightly. “Do you want to go running with me in the morning?”

“Sure.”

He waited several minutes before stowing his container back in the fridge and settling back down on the couch. Clint found himself sinking down into the warmth of slumber easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so proud and embarrassed.
> 
> [If you want to know exactly what Steve brought home from the sex shop, here's a post with links to everything.](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/private/110051265495/tumblr_nj8j2gvStX1tw9cz4) This is not a review or recommendation for any of the products linked, just a point of reference because I like to have something real to keep in mind when I'm writing.
> 
> I won't publicly advertise anyone's kinks here, but hopefully I fulfilled some of your more popular requests sufficiently! After the few of you responded to my post, there was a flood of anons with quite a range of requests, but I couldn't reasonably put everything in here. Some mentions of Steve wearing some not-so-traditionally-manly things. Some discussion of toys (not "The Hulk," but we'll save that for later, ha!). A lot more dirty talk than I ever intended. Some spur-of-the-moment-ish things. A little light orgasm-delay/denial type play; not sure Steve is liking that dynamic. A little sleepy-rough sex. Finally! Some butt stuff! Woo! 
> 
> If you have any requests for a sexy scene or a kink for our lovebirds to try or anything, feel free to comment here or to send in an ask or a fanmail on the blog. [I've complied a list of sorts in this post](http://onheil-ferguson.tumblr.com/private/110325020290/tumblr_nje7fnl8i51tw9cz4) of the most common requests, many of which I'd already drafted scenes for this chapter (and future chapters) when I'd put out the original call for suggestions, as well as some of the less common ones that either just seemed interesting/funny or seemed like people might be hesitant to suggest. Really, I'm open to anything you'd like to see. I'll never publicly associate a username with a sex request unless you make the request/respond publicly. On the blog, those will always go under a "read more" if you respond directly to a post rather than to the inbox and I need to clarify something.
> 
> And poor Steve trying to do everything safe and healthy and Loki just throwing all of that out the damned window, or at the very least thinking him foolish. They should probably sit down and have a less naked, more serious conversation about all of that.
> 
> OH! And they are of course watching _Girl with a Pearl Earring_ and before that, the 1965 broadcast version of _Cinderella._
> 
> I am sexed out. Less sex next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> As ever, thank you.


End file.
